


The Dark Lord is a Part-Timer!

by Doitsuki



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: ALL OF IT, Altered Mental States, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blood Drinking, Cannibalism, Career Change, Cats, Cults, Domestic Disputes, Domestic Kink, Drugs, Flippy personality bullshit, For the minor characters I had to do it, Freeform, Gender or Sex Swap, Gore, Interviews, Intimacy, It's mild very mild please calm down, Jealousy, LARPing, M/M, Madness, Magic, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Roleplay, S&M, Showers, Slow Build, They live together and it is glorious, This ain't a darkfic I swear, Torture, Transformation, Violence, Work
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-25
Updated: 2015-11-16
Packaged: 2018-03-25 16:17:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 47,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3816856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doitsuki/pseuds/Doitsuki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by the premise of the anime 'Hataraku Mao-Sama'. Melkor and Sauron flee to the modern world in a time-jump at the end of the First Age, and must survive if they are to regain their power and dominate all beings once more. Note that this is not written to be in exact accordance with Tolkien's writing for what happened at the end of the First Age. The real plot stuff happens as the Dark Lord and his servant try to survive in this day and age. Have fun lmao</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Meanwhile in Angband

**Author's Note:**

> [disclaimer (scroll down)](https://www.archiveofourown.org/users/Doitsuki/profile)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah yes setting up WELP here is where it happens. Please be kind to my Old English skills, I really do try. (and love the sound of it ahhh prepare thy anus, dis gon b gud)
> 
> Btw if you have consistent ideas for Melkor and Sauron's characters/relationship you might not want to read this as it will butcher your brain. :D

Melkor stood and watched Thangorodrim crumble. It was there, high up in the tallest tower of his fortress that he witnessed his own defeat. Ancalagon slain, the Balrogs destroyed and legions of orcs he had raised like his own children scattered as far as he could see. So many charred corpses. Glittering dark dragon scales melting in flowing streams of lava. Elves, eagles and Ainur all marching forth to doom his cause. He did not know what to do. And he was afraid.

 

So entranced was he upon sight of the mighty mountains crumbling that he failed to notice the presence at his back. Sauron was there, his armor bloodied and gleaming in the light of a burning world.

“Master… we should go.” 

Melkor turned to him and looked utterly broken, his greatest efforts once more laid to waste by the others. Those of his kin, and the countless little elves who thought they could make the world a better place. He hated them all. A terrible scraping came from his hand then, and Sauron moved to place his fingers atop the clenched fist. Sparks came from how tightly Melkor closed his hand, willing with all the strength in his heart for the elves to be crushed and never draw breath again. His armored glove cracked and the straps holding it to his wrist burst. A moment, then the sharp ringing of metal hitting the ground. 

 

Sauron looked up into the gleaming red eyes of his Master. There he saw anger directed both outwards and in. He knew Melkor blamed everyone but himself for the failings of his assault. But deep inside, the Dark Lord knew he had fucked up. 

_‘Why must this happen. I do not want to go back to the Void. They will never forgive me.’_

Melkor could not speak as his teeth were grit so tightly they were about to shatter. Sauron heard his thoughts, and held his hand. The heat was comforting, but Melkor wanted it to swallow him whole. Sauron had always made things better. Always knew what to say, the right strategic moves in battle, just where to place his hands and how close to stand…

 

He lowered his head, and closed his eyes. Sauron could not see his pain. He was the mightiest of all the Valar, and to retreat was to be weak.

Yet it was the smartest thing to do if he wished to keep his freedom. Sauron told him this through the power of thought, and suggested locations they could flee to. Before the Maia could pull his master to the deepest underground halls of Angband, the floor shook and great footsteps thundered at great speed. Melkor squeaked then, like a mouse that had been stepped on and flattened to the ground. He tore his hand from Sauron’s loose grip and clutched his crown, the silmarils casting a dazzling light through his fingers.

“ _No,”_ he whispered, voice hoarse and eyes wide. “They _can’t_ take it from me.”

 

“We shall.” A clear, firm voice came from behind Melkor and as he turned, he saw nothing there. Nothing but thick smoke clouds with the voice of his brother.

 

Sauron, seeing the imminent breakdown of the Dark Lord decided to push him out of the tower with both arms wrapped around his waist. Manwë gasped in surprise and went from cloud form to that of an eagle, speeding after the two dark figures with talons outstretched. Of course Sauron would make a rash decision to save Melkor’s behind. It was the sort of thing the other Ainur knew him for - when cornered, he would run rather than give up. There was only one he would submit to and that was his master. Death would take him before the other Valar would. 

 

“I will not let you go again.” said Sauron with his face pressed to the back of Melkor’s head. Sharp spikes and dangerous edges cut him from the extravagant armour his Master wore, but he did not care. Melkor was screaming his head off as the ground rushed up to meet him, hearing nothing after but the dark chanting of his servant. Black Speech. Something else. A deep hole, the absence of light.

 

And then they hit the ground.

 

~

 

Manwë held council with the other Valar, gathered in the Ring of Doom to discuss Melkor’s escape.

“ ‘Tis unjust!” growled Mandos, clenching a bone-white hand around his scythe. “Melkor deserveth eternal binding and madness from isolation. Death is too sweet a punishment for him.”

“Thou shalt be calm, Mandos. Where might he be found escapeth us all. Our first task-”

“Is to _kill him!”_ Tulkas interrupted Manwë with a wide grin and fist-to-palm gesture, much to the annoyance of the other Valar. Manwë narrowed his cold blue eyes at him.

“We would have him now were it not for thy assault on his stronghold, Tulkas.”

“Come now! I-”

“Silence.” Manwë’s unforgiving glare prevented any further protests. “We must findeth Sauron, with him Melkor. Their location is unknown, for not one of us can detect either within all of Ëa.”

Vairë spoke then, twirling a thin lock of hair in her fingers.

“Let us search through all time and space. None shall flee from our watchful eyes.”

“Not forever.” Manwë agreed, and raised his head to look up. Clouds swirled above his head, and his eyes fell shut. It would take great concentration to begin the search. 

A greater presence watched it all unfold. And suddenly, his attention was turned to the most corrupt world he knew.

 

Middle-Earth, seven thousand years from now.

 

~

 

Melkor sat with his back against a cold brick wall, blood dripping from a spot on his forehead. His crown had cut him there, sharp black iron slicing his pale grey skin. Now, it was nowhere to be found. He had lost his silmarils and the sign of his rule over Arda. 

_‘How can I be King of the World now…?’_

Sauron’s attention turned to his Master’s thoughts, finding them to be strangely quiet and difficult to understand. Their mental connection seemed a lot weaker, and the Maia startled at the notion of Melkor’s conscious mind fading away. Without their telepathy, Sauron would feel so terribly alone. He needed that powerful, all-knowing presence at the back of his mind. Even without speaking, just knowing Melkor was there whenever he needed him… it was crucial to Sauron’s sanity. What little he had left of it, anyway.

 

‘ _You are hurt….’_ he murmured to Melkor, not moving his lips and with his voice a mere caress to his Master’s mind. The Dark Lord blinked slowly and looked up, his head tilted to the side.

“Didst thou sayest something?”

Sauron stepped closer and knelt before him. “Nay. Do not trouble yourself to move. Let me look after you.”

Melkor fell silent and directed his eyes to the left, Sauron glancing there for a moment before focusing his full attention to him. He could tell the Dark Lord was embarrassed, and generally feeling like shit. Some of those emotions seeped into his own heart, for Melkor held dominion over it just as he had power in Sauron’s mind.

 His fingers went to move a few matted strands of Melkor’s long, black hair from sticking to his forehead. Before he could touch his Lord’s skin, Sauron took a look at his own hand. His flesh had lost its golden glow, just as Melkor’s aura of darkness had diminished. While the Dark Lord looked somewhat pathetic, his servant looked even worse. Sauron’s shining locks of fire and silk had dulled to a dirty orange-blond. In a nearby puddle he caught sight of his reflection and the vanity in his heart almost seized him with terror. Gone was the glow in his eyes; magma and flame reduced to deep honey brown. His fine cheekbones and shapely lips looked thin and dry, dark shadows emphasizing his suddenly gaunt features. Were those _bags_ under his eyes? Never in his fifty thousand years of life had Sauron owned such an unsightly face. He plastered his hand to Melkor’s own to prevent him from taking a look. Melkor grunted and scrunched his eyebrows together, feeling the wound at his temple sting. Blood trickled onto Sauron’s hand, drawing his attention back to the Dark Lord. There were important matters at hand, things that needed immediate care. His own appearance could wait.

 

Sauron ran his sharp nails along Melkor’s hairline, picking up strands and moving them aside with utmost delicacy. The gash he saw was deep, peppered with dirt at the edges and pulsing with exposed veins. Sauron had nothing to clean it with and found the lack of hygiene between them both rather disturbing. But in times of war, exceptions had to be made. Gently he pressed his tongue to Melkor’s brow and licked the blood that had gathered there. He worked up and closed his eyes, whispering healing enchantments in between the moments where he contacted heated, bleeding flesh. When he looked to see his progress, it frightened him to see that while the wound had begun to clot, it was not healing entirely. Furthermore, Sauron sensed an immediate lessening of his own magical power. Something that had been an innate part of him since the day of his creation, and now it felt like it was slipping away.

 

Melkor shivered as Sauron tended to him, finding himself with a sudden great sensitivity to pain. He was of the Valar, and did not normally feel pain unless it was by great physical force of a strong being against him. Manwë’s slaps had never hurt much, but Tulkas body slamming him into the ground did. Now, there was sharp agony at his forehead only offset by the softness of Sauron’s wet lips. His servant kissed him and stroked the top of his matted black hair all the way down his back.

“You will be okay.” whispered Sauron, seating himself properly in Melkor’s lap. The Dark Lord could sense the turmoil in Sauron’s mind, but it was like listening to radio static on a windy day. Confusing, strange and painful to the ears. Not that Melkor knew what a radio was. Nor electricity, for that matter. He thought it mere sorcery that the flickering street lights to the right cast a glow into the alleyway. It reminded him of Valarian magic, and brought a snarl to his lips.

 

Sauron noticed and looked to the side. The lamp post did not seem to be doing anything other than failing to evenly light the sidewalk. Some of the filaments inside it were dead, and many moths fluttered nearby. It was then that Sauron took a better look at their surroundings, as Melkor seemed not to care. His mind was in a different, darker place. As it always was.

 

Light blue bricks formed the side of a building directly opposite the two Ainur. Shreds of a peeling poster with stylized Westron script clung to the rough surface, paint marks obscuring the images there. Many of those paint marks formed some sort of art, Sauron seeing a human face in shades of purple on a nearby bin. He thought to himself how much more exquisite his own craft was - why, he had several carven statues of Melkor in his forges, some cast in shining gold with jewels for eyes. He wondered what would happen to them if the elves stormed Angband in search of the Dark Lord. In any case, Sauron’s work was hidden well enough. Anyone who dared to cross his magical barriers would be turned to dust. 

 

The floor was some hard, unnatural surface. Not tar or stone, some compound in shades of dirty grey. Sauron had never seen concrete before. As he trailed his fingers across it, the bumpy roughness caused him to quickly withdraw. This was no smooth-cut marble, that was certain. Plastic bags fluttered about with the wind, their artificial crinkling causing Sauron to follow the white shapes with his eyes. Like jellyfish they moved, lazy and floating without need for water or life. Sauron wondered what their purpose was. 

 

He looked up, seeing the stars dimmed and sky black. The moon looked choked and bothered by many dark clouds, more than it had ever been when Sauron gazed upon it last. Melkor was watching too, as if the skies would open up and rain hell upon him. His eyes were dark, and very tired. Sauron pitied him just a little. Perhaps a lot. He would not admit such things to his conscious mind.

 

The air tasted different. Instead of the rich, sweet scent of burning flesh and evil smoke was something chemical and sickening, taking a word neither Sauron nor Melkor knew. This was the world of the twenty-first century, and it was a polluted, corrupt thing.

 


	2. Oh cripes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ayy lmao trigger warning for everything you see in the tags k

An hour passed in absolute stillness, the wind dying as dogs howled in the distance. The earth began to rumble, and for a moment Melkor thought the armies of elves and men were coming for him once more. On instinct he clutched Sauron in his great big hands, easily covering his servant’s chest and stomach.

“Gahk! Let go!” Sauron hissed, suddenly unable to breathe. A fierce blush coloured his pale face at the Dark Lord using him like a child with a teddy bear.

Melkor did not release him that instant, waiting for the world to be still. With his mind, he commanded it. None of his Valarian powers could change things now. He found out the hard way when the earth refused to listen and brought a loud screech from the corner of the blue-bricked building. He held Sauron tighter and soon was fought against, before his grip crushed the Maia’s body. A fierce strike whacked him in the unarmored part of his armpit, and Sauron fell into an undignified heap. He could barely stand to glare at Melkor when a sudden _bang_ sounded and many footsteps followed. 

 

“ _Get up._ ” Melkor commanded, distrust and fear flashing in his eyes. He felt in no condition to fight, drained of his power and stripped of all majesty. But still he cut a terrifying figure, at seven feet tall in the blood-covered armor of Sauron’s creation. The spikes on his pauldrons cast great looming shadows in the half-lit alleyway, and Sauron took a glance back at him while running his hands over his own dented chestplate.

“Stop right there!” A shaking voice shouted from the right, several other human silhouettes flanking the one who spoke. Sauron snarled, tensing his hands into the automatic clawed pose he took before drawing upon his inner strength. 

“How dare thee command the Dark Lord of Arda?” growled Melkor in disbelief, stepping astride Sauron with his hands empty and one without a gauntlet. How he wished he had Grond in his hand now, his great hammer made to smite petty foes like these. Why, they were entirely unarmed! So small, too. None reached a height greater than Sauron’s six and a half feet, a thing Sauron noticed and cackled at.

 

“I-I’m warning you!” The tallest of the men, dark of hair and white in face held a small object in both hands. He pointed it at Sauron, who only continued to laugh madly. 

“Begone, ye mortal scum!” Melkor roared and thrust his arm forth, his voice rattling the bins nearby with a deep echo. Sauron lunged at the men, both hands aimed towards the one closest to him. His fingers crackled with flaming energy but only smoked like a dying candle. Aghast, Sauron made to try again for his wall of destruction and burning death - only to be spasming in the air like a fly on a neon sign. Soon he dropped to the floor with a loud _thunk_ , electricity zapping around his armor plates. Melkor’s eyes widened at the sight of such powerful sorcery, but surely he could take on these... men? Wizards? Whatever they were, they could not match the Dark Lord, Morgoth the terrible foe of the world, who was meant to be as tall as a mountain and able to destroy armies with just his little finger. Storming forth, the ground shook with every step and Melkor picked up a bin nearby to throw at his enemies. They were all policemen dressed in blue and black, now with tasers ready to zap Melkor into oblivion. A loud buzz filled the air and three of the men screamed, their tasers having hit the empty metal bin that came flying out of the darkness. Melkor stalked into the light and was dreadful to behold in his rage. His eyes maintained their faint red glow, and his face appeared ghostly pale in the artificial light of the street lamp. All eyes were on him and as he turned to crush the man to his left, the one on his right turned his taser to full strength and zapped his bare hand. In that moment, Melkor felt as if he were being burned by the silmarils again, his blackened fingertips sizzling and body quaking all over. The breath left his lungs and his eyes rolled back in his head, causing the policeman before him to faint and smack his head on the pavement.

 

There was the distinct crackling of radio static, and Melkor felt his consciousness slipping away. Sauron’s voice was silent in his mind. He could not die here.

 

~

 

Bright. Far too bright. Stark white walls, a cold metal table. Shackles. He was bound. Vulnerable. His legs were spread. Melkor sat hunched in a chair that was far too small for him, with holes in the reinforced titanium seat and handcuffs binding him there. A long, low groan slid from his lips and puddled in his stomach. Why did he suddenly hunger for food? He’d never needed to eat before to live. Not a day in his immortal life. Yet he felt like the very essence of his core would waste away if he did not get something into his belly. A growl came from there, and Melkor willed it to shut up. His head hurt. As did the rest of his body, especially his left leg. 

‘ _Damn these cursed wounds. How many millenia must I wait for this broken form to heal?’_

He had never really forgotten the scars and agony of his half-victory against Fingolfin and later, Thorondor. Without Sauron by his side for counsel and support, he felt weak. When had he grown so dependent? It had been so long.

‘ _No.’_ a voice said within his mind, ‘ _You are_ ** _not_** _weak. You are Melkor, he who arises in might and no-one may constrain you thus. Raise your head.’_

He did as the formless voice commanded, not knowing whether it was himself who spoke or his servant from some great distance. Before him sat a man of middle age and medium height, grey hairs poking from a defined widow’s peak at his receding hairline. His face was set in a firm scowl and two bushy eyebrows were coated in a fine layer of white powder. Dandruff, Melkor surmised. He turned his nose up in disgust. The man grunted in response and slammed something hard onto the table. Melkor took a squinty look at it and frowned.

 

“Thou darest to throw mine own gauntlet down? If ‘tis combat thy powerless hands desire, unchain me!” He wriggled in his constraints for emphasis, suddenly feeling a lot more small and powerless. Completely stripped of his armor, he wore nothing but his black tunic and leggings. Even his boots had been removed.

“What is this guy _on_?” came the judgmental voice of some random person in the far back corner of the room. Melkor twisted his head, and locked eyes with a stout little policeman with a scarf covering half his face. They glared at each other, until the man broke eye contact and tugged his scarf a little higher. His eyes flicked to the wound by Melkor’s forehead, before he visibly cringed and stepped back. 

“What ails thee, tiny one? I see fear of my might in thine eyes.” Melkor had begun his terrible staredown of the weakest person he could see, but was interrupted by a click in front of his face. The interrogator snapped his fingers back and forth.

“Oi, get your face back here. I have some questions for you, Romeo.”

“What does that mean?” asked Melkor, not knowing he was being made fun of for his form of archaic speech. It was the way all those of Aman spoke, Valar and Maiar alike. Melkor had not spent enough time in Arda having conversations with Elves and Men to learn their informal and simple languages. He did however understand the various names they gave him. Morgoth, Bauglir, The Great Foe, Bêlekoroz… All in fear of his great power. Now he was being named something that didn’t sound very scary at all. It made him hate the man before him even more than he did upon first sight.

“I ask the questions. Do you understand?” said the interrogator, clenching his hand into a fist atop the table. Melkor blinked at him. At least he was speaking somewhat formally, to his actual understanding.

“Of course I understand, thy half-witted fool. And ‘tis believed I shall answer? Not with that attitude.” Melkor fell silent after that, and would not speak another word no matter what the man did. Stubborn and infuriated, he devoted his energy to calling Sauron with his mind. But there was no answer. It worried him.

 

An hour passed and just as his eyes began to shut, the little man poked him with a stick. Melkor jumped to attention and twisted in the chair, eyes alert and brows about to go into orbit. He bared his teeth at the man, causing him to shriek and retreat.

“Aaaahhhh lookit his faaaace!” whined the officer, hiding inside his giant scarf. “He’s still bleeeding. Can’t we patch him up? I can’t stand the sight of him!”

“Damn it Danny would you shut up?” The interrogator stood then and tried to look menacing above Melkor. It didn’t work, and all he got was a low growl from the Dark Lord. “Why should we bother? He’s clearly a criminal. Took out _three_ of our men, you hear? He should be locked up. And his weird friend.”

At this, Melkor perked up. 

“Friend? Thou speaketh of Sauron? My servant! What hast thou done to him?!” His eyes were alight with sudden, almost childlike hope. The two officers exchanged glances and a few mutterings about Fifty Shades of Grey, before the interrogator pressed his hand to Melkor’s shoulder. Melkor promptly squished his neck to the side and took a huge bite from the man’s wrist. High shrieking filled the room, blood gushing from the severed artery now partially caught in Melkor’s teeth. Danny took a peep from his scarf at the sight of so much red going absolutely everywhere and collapsed. Melkor grunted loudly as his sharp teeth ripped the interrogator’s entire hand off, the man stumbling back while clutching his bleeding stump. Slow chewing and the distinct crack of bones filled the soundproof room, Melkor easily consuming both flesh and cartilage while spitting out the thin bones of the man’s hand. It was barely a snack to the famished Dark Lord, but enough to spark his hunger and strength. He turned to the interrogator (still screaming in agony, now on the floor) and grinned, showing his many pointy and bloodied teeth. Instantly he forced himself at the man, sheer power rippling through every muscle in his body and breaking the cuffs at his hands and feet. He hadn’t been restrained like a crazy, dangerous person. Merely as a street criminal, using what handcuffs and rooms the police station had available. Breakable things. Weak things.   


He lunged for the interrogator’s neck, the scent of fear and blood filling the room like a poisonous gas. It seeped to the room next door, where Sauron had just begun to wake from the electric shock of hours ago. The sun was rising, and he could see its glare through the barred window to his right. From the left, he glanced to the door. There was no window in it, but scents he knew and loved came from beneath the thick metal. His interrogator (a tough woman with long brown hair and a stress-lined face) followed his gaze, but did not smell the blood. She sniffed.

_‘God, I fucking hate flu season.’_ she thought to herself, hoping the figure before her did not think of her as a sniveling, weak person. Some of her co-workers had teased her and for what? Having a fragile immune system? It had made her bitter this week, and she snapped at Sauron with more force than necessary.

“Look here. You aren’t going to get away. Who are you, and why were you dressed in medieval armour?” It seemed like a fair opener, but the response Sauron gave was less than satisfying.

“I clothe myself and my Master in things of beautiful craft that exceed your mental capacity. Shut your mouth, wench. I must go to him.”

Her mouth fell open just as Sauron’s dark, gravely voice halted in his throat. Why did he sound so strange all of a sudden? Where were the smooth, seductive deep tones of his fair voice from days ago? Sure, he had been yelling commands throughout the greatest battle Middle-Earth had ever seen, directing dragons to fly and Orcs to run… but his voice did not normally change like this. He moved to rub a hand across his neck but found himself bound. The woman opposite him regained her composure and gazed upon Sauron with distaste. His pride ached at the look on her face.

“If you think that flowery bullshit is going to get you anywhere, you’re mistak-”

**“THERE IS A DEAD MAN IN THE ROOM OPPOSITE AND IF YOU DO NOT LET ME GO THIS INSTANT I SHALL RAIN HELLFIRE UPON ALL YOU HOLD DEAR!”** Sauron’s screeching nearly bled the interrogator’s ears and she covered them in a moment of self-protection.

_‘Holy shit.’_ she thought, rising to stand. ‘ _This one’s a right nutcase._ ’

She was right, Sauron’s madness being a ghastly and obnoxious thing at the right moments. At present she could not bear him, being new to this job and having thought herself strong enough to withstand the crazy.   


Glowering at him, she moved to see what was going on in the room opposite. Sauron watched her take a card from her pocket and slide it in a grey holder by the door. A beep sounded, and the door swung open. Blood and fear. Ah yes. Sauron could smell it far better now and took a deep breath, then exhaled in a heavy sigh. He hungered after the scent, the taste, the sight of Melkor ripping his enemies to shreds. Such strength and power woke a great arousal within Sauron. And only Melkor could do so.

 

Melkor was just tearing the last bit of flesh from the man’s pectorals when he heard a beep, and raised his head. The windowless door opened, and there was his chance to escape! He sprang from the ground and bolted straight towards the woman who stared at the sight, frozen in place. She barely had time to react with a swift counter before Melkor threw her to the ground, and accidentally caught her leg on the edge of the door. The Dark Lord’s incredible strength surprised her, the breath knocked out of her with how hard she hit the ground.

“Master!” cried Sauron, his head tilted at an unnatural angle with a wide grin at the sight of Melkor. “Come hither, free me!”

“At once.” Melkor sprinted into the room and ripped the cuffs apart, leaving metal rings around Sauron’s wrists and broken chain links hanging from them. Soon he burst the chains by his servant’s feet, and held Sauron in his arms. 

“Art thou well?” he asked, looking up and down Sauron’s pale body. His skin looked in poor health as did the dimness of his eyes and hair. But otherwise, Sauron was uninjured. In fact, he bounced with excitement and wrapped his arms around Melkor’s neck in a hug.

“Your might never fails to astound me, my Lord. _Oh_ , kill some **more!** _Please!”_

Melkor could only nod, now more confident and feeling stronger than ever. He gave Sauron a quick kiss to the forehead and set him down, ripping the back from the interrogation chair with his bare hands. He broke it, hands aflame and melting it into a long, misshapen paddle-like thing. He was no expert craftsman, and Sauron could not do much without his magic or a forge. It was decent enough to kill with, however.  
Proud, Melkor brandished his weapon and Sauron clapped with glee. Then it began.

 

Screams and gunshots filled the police station as Melkor slashed cops left and right with his long metal rod. Sauron kept his back and threw fallen batons and guns at anyone who dared come behind them. It was an absolute bloodbath, the strange weapons that shot their bullets spontaneously combusting in their owners’ hands. Melkor’s power was absolute, his right hand clenching to ignite and crush while the left kept hacking at anyone who got close. His deep laughter echoed into the night as he burst out the side of a wall and ran away with Sauron on his shoulders. Soon enough it became dawn, but the two Ainur had already escaped into the darkness. They were beings of shadow, born and corrupted into a life of black secrecy.

 

Once more they had fled. But with massacre behind and pride at such beautiful vengeance, neither could feel shame at their escape. Until Melkor collapsed.

 


	3. Smartypants Sauron and the journey to the mall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This felt like filler while I was writing it XD but there needs to be some sort of sensible transition to the more interesting parts of the story, right?  
> Also, I'm writing this whole fic in Pages in size 14 Hoefler Text. Dark brown against parchment background. It's nice ^_^

“Master!” Sauron shook Melkor by the shoulders, sitting on his chest and with hot tears in his eyes. “What is wrong with you?! Get up!” 

The sun crept higher as the sixth hour of a Monday morning brought cars zooming past the point of Melkor’s collapse. He had strategically fallen into a clump of bushes, his long black hair caught in the leaves. Most of his body was hidden; Sauron made sure of that. Bodies in parks were always suspicious. Well, unmoving ones anyway.

 

Melkor had run out of energy using so much magical power in so little time. He’d had unlimited reserves for all eternity! Running out of magic was not a concept in his mind. And so when he awoke to Sauron breathing life into his lips, he was incredibly confused.

“Sauron, this is hardly the time for thy sweet kisses.” he remarked, smirking just a little. Sauron promptly bit him and growled, pressing his face into his Master’s neck.

“What were you thinking, falling down like that?! It’s dangerous to do such random things! At least find proper shelter if you want to sleep!” His voice was muffled and with a slight whine, serious concern breaking through. Melkor sucked on his bottom lip, tasting blood. Sauron had always been biting and scratching at him; it was just an ordinary part of their relationship. But for some reason it now hurt terribly and caused Melkor grief.

He sat up, pushing Sauron off him. The Maia promptly turned around and crawled right back into his lap, stubbornly seating himself there. With a heavy sigh, Melkor looked away. Cars zoomed past on the road to the left, while tall grey buildings reached to the skies.

“There are many towers around…” he commented, mind absent from his physical situation and wondering about the environment. “Why doth grass grow hither and in no other place?”

Sauron was busy with his face in Melkor’s chest, inhaling the scent of dried blood and remembering the past few hours.

“I bid thee to answer.” Melkor flicked Sauron’s cheek and received the expected hiss in reply.

“How am I supposed to know? It’s damned grass, and you have yet to answer _my_ questions.”

“ **Enough with the questions!** ” Melkor shouted, causing a squirrel in the tree nearby to fall out and flee. The Dark Lord’s dull red eyes followed the creature, until Sauron’s slender fingers brought his jaw to the right.

“Do you see that?” He gestured with his head to a nearby parked car. Someone in tight, strange clothes was coming and held a large rectangular case in one hand.

Melkor saw this person as dangerous, knowing anything black and rectangular to mean bad news.

“‘Tis a lightning-box man! Kill him!” cried the Dark Lord, and his servant rolled his eyes.

“Of course.” came Sauron’s quick reply before he lunged at the man from his position in the bushes. The man had just donned his freshly-ironed suit for his first day at work, and now he was dead. A huge chunk from his neck was torn away, Sauron looking back at Melkor for approval. The Dark Lord smiled, beckoning his servant closer. Soon the body was hidden and Sauron feasted upon it, Melkor taking a few pieces for himself. The man’s clothes were cast aside, only a little blood splattering his collar. Sauron did not like mess at all, and cleanly drained what he could from the bitten neck. Melkor always admired the Maia’s neat and precise work. He always seemed to know what he was doing.

  
Melkor felt his strength begin to return, as did Sauron. These bodies they had were human in function but with remnants of magical ability stored within. In order to use any tricks they had to store energy and obviously eat. Every single thing they consumed turned to either physical or magical energy - and consuming a creature with a soul, be it businessman or police officer would keep their power strong. 

 

Melkor was just licking his fingers free of blood after consuming the man’s heart when he noticed Sauron trying on the discarded suit. It had been tailored to fit the man’s form, and looked somewhat loose on Sauron’s slender, androgynous figure. Standing by the tree, Sauron put his hands in the suit’s pockets. He felt something in there and knew it to be leather, for there were many times Sauron had worn leather harnesses and held whips to please his Master’s eyes. It was a folded thing with strange fabric flaps and many pieces of thin, green paper inside.

“What is that?” asked Melkor, sticking his nose over to have a peek.

“Some sort of leather satchel without a strap.” said Sauron, understanding the flaps as compartments which contained various thin objects. He took out a credit card, watching the silver seal on it glint in the sunlight. Melkor stared, giving a disappointed grunt when it was placed back into the wallet. Sauron next went for the zip, hearing a soft clink from within the wallet when he moved it a bit. After tugging it in all directions, it opened to reveal many shining coins of gold and silver. 

“Ooooh…” Sauron purred along with Melkor in excitement at their newfound wealth. Sauron saw objects the humans often used to barter with, and Melkor just saw pretty, shiny things. Out of the two of them, Sauron was the only one who could read all languages, scripts and understand the ways of Men. Elves? He was an expert at them. But he did not see any around. Everyone seemed to be human, and quite aggressive too. Some less intelligent than others, giving that the wealthy suit-man had openly approached the two most evil beings in existence.

Within moments, Sauron had connected the numbers on the coins with the numbers on the green paper notes. Currency, a thing one often had to work for. Elves and Dwarves killed each other for it. Men did more despicable things.

 

“This is what we can trade to buy food.” said Sauron, waving a coin back and forth in front of Melkor’s face. Melkor’s eyes followed it and he reached out with both hands. The coin disappeared down Sauron’s white shirt-sleeve in an instant.

“I will look after it. Remember what happened the last time you held valuable objects?”

The Dark Lord’s face was suddenly cast into shadow, his angular brows flat in apparent distress. The Silmarils. Still gone. All because his crown had fallen off and they had traveled through time and space and why oh why did it hurt so much? Looking at his burnt fingers, Melkor hung his head. Sauron facepalmed at that, annoyed at the slip of his tongue. Melkor lapsing into dark memories was never a good thing. Rarely could Sauron wake him from those moments.

“We don’t _have_ to trade it…” mused the Maia, discreetly slipping the coin back into the wallet and zipping it up. “We could always find a place with food and kill everyone there. We will get fresh meat along with many supplies. You know how the humans like to hoard things.”

Melkor said nothing, still staring at his hands. Sauron decided to plop his head into those hands and stare up at his Master, making funny faces. It didn’t work. Sauron felt anger instead of pity, for he tried so hard and was worried about all those cars (which were increasing in number as time went by) and why could Melkor not be sensible for once!

“Are you going to fucking cry now? Hm? Let all these humans in their wheel-boxes come past and mock the fallen Dark Lord?” Sauron turned his lips into a nasty sneer, suddenly feeling a painful tug at his hair. 

“Shut thy wretched mouth, Sauron.” Melkor’s hands clenched tighter, and were shaking with the restraint of his power. Sauron could tell shit was going to hit the fan soon and closed his eyes, not resisting as he knew it infuriated Melkor more than anything. Of course he had gone too far. When angered, he always did.

 

Long moments passed until Melkor threw Sauron away, dimly realizing his servant had rolled close to the strange four-wheeled boxes with humans inside, each zooming past at the same speed on the road. Sauron came to a stop by the footpath and got to his feet, dusting off grass and other things from his suit. It didn’t look as clean as it had on the man it belonged to. Oh well. He was nothing more than a pile of bones and entrails behind a bush now. He could hardly be asked for cleaning advice.

 

‘ _We must find a place to stay.’_ said Sauron using his renewed telepathy, the strength in his body and mind great enough to manage the secret communication. Melkor only gave a grunt in reply, and got up. Covered in blood and with his black clothes sticking to his skin, he looked every bit a serial killer as a Dark Lord had the right to. As Sauron was commanded to keep his mouth shut, he could not openly tell Melkor that he needed a bath. To look presentable, at least. Sauron loved to see him covered in blood, looking like the master of life and death. He knew however that humans grew frightened and defensive at the sight of blood and Melkor in general. They had every reason to.

 

“Let us go somewhere private. I loathe this place already.” said Melkor with a glance around at all the skyscrapers. Grey, flat, boring. The grass at his feet? Natural, pure, pretty. He hated it, for it reminded him of those damned tree-hugging elves. He twisted his foot in the ground and crushed a few bright green blades of grass, before walking to Sauron’s side.

 

As they walked down the street, Sauron held his Master’s hand. All these buildings were full of people - he could practically _smell_ them going about their idiotic little lives. While nothing here made sense to Melkor, Sauron was beginning to piece things together. His mind was quicker than most, and he liked to think himself the smartest being in all existence. But not vain, gods no.

The little rectangular boxes people held were dangerous. This he knew, and told Melkor to be wary of them. The next time anyone pointed something like that towards either of them, magic was to be used at once to disarm and escape. It was also imperative to only use magic when absolutely necessary, seeing as it would become difficult to replenish it. Whatever law enforcement this world had would soon come after the two Ainur, maybe with weapons beyond either of their comprehension. Thus, they had to take care in who and where they killed.

Food was also a problem. Neither Sauron nor Melkor needed to eat back when they had lived in their own times. But now, with these strange bodies and terrible requirements, without food they would collapse and be left weaker than baby kittens. And then the police would come to question them, torture them, do all sorts of unspeakable things. This is what Sauron told his Master, striking deep concern in Melkor’s dark heart. Melkor did not fear the police, however. Without their magic lightning boxes they were nothing. He wanted to get one for himself and expressed this to Sauron, only to receive a firm denial of the mere notion.

“Let us find a stronghold first, and then we consider murder.” said Sauron with his tactical mind working at great speed. Safety and understanding in this world was the first priority. With that would come survival methods. Whatever came after that would be considered then. For now, they needed a house. Apartment. Palace. Whatever worked.

 

~

 

Hours passed. Folk stared at the great, hulking beast of a man that was the Dark Lord Morgoth in human-ish form, whispering at the sight of him holding hands with the long-haired meth addict by his side. Sauron indeed looked quite wrecked, and knew it. At least he could hide the bloodstain on his suit with a thick portion of his hair. All suspicion was cast to Melkor, who really couldn’t care less. He was used to people looking at him in fear and terror. As long as they weren’t mocking him, he was happy. Sauron meanwhile struggled to keep his temper as his sharp ears caught wind of the things people said. _Freaks_ , they whispered. _Shady. Queer. Odd._ It was only natural for the former lieutenant of Melkor to wish death and ruin upon all who disrespected the Dark Lord. But he needed to keep his anger in check if they were to blend in with this farce of a society. _‘And,’_ he reasoned ‘ _We do look quite strange in comparison to them. Look at these bland, gawping fools. It will be easy to pretend to be one of you.’_

 

Melkor’s mood lightened during the time he held Sauron’s hand and kept his mind clear. He trusted his servant to see all their plans succeed, and happily followed him along. He did not realize how his mentality had changed from its state as it had been two days ago. There had always been a bored scowl on his face as he sat on his iron throne, glowering at his dark forces in Angband. When Sauron wanted something other than to offer him reports of good news, Melkor would either deny him in a state of perpetual grumpiness or entertain the Maia’s quirky personality. Every move they made, Melkor decided upon it. Only when things became needlessly complicated (likely due to Sauron’s intervention) he let his generals handle things. Melkor was born to lead and dominate. Following was not what he planned on.

Sauron feared the loss of Melkor’s crown and silmarils had made him simple. Too easily did the Dark Lord comply with Sauron’s suggestions, like butter he melted at the Maia’s heated commands. What he didn’t know was that Melkor’s true self had been locked away within the Dark Lord’s heart, where things remained black and cruel. What he showed Sauron now were the more vulnerable parts of himself, along with some forced dominance he could control. In truth, the malice of Melkor was hidden and all he could do now was _feel_. Feel harder and more painfully than ever before, emotional and physical agony combined. He was… almost human. A side effect of this new body, no doubt. Sauron however remained with his transformative abilities and most of his mind. He was already crazy; nothing more within him could change.

Melkor… was complex. So much now that it completely passed Sauron, save for light suspicions that his Master was going soft.

Perhaps a bit of gameplaying in the bedroom could awaken his dark side once more. Sauron would see to that.

~

 

By midday, Melkor complained of his legs aching and Sauron saw it coming from a mile far. The sneaky way he tried to lean as he held Sauron’s hand, the slight falter in his gait. He could hide his pain no more. Odd, he usually could strut about proudly for hours before needing a rest. More weaknesses of his new body. Sauron said nothing about it. His own feet felt a little sore, but he figured it was because the shoes he wore were too big and did not support him at all. Melkor was barefooted, and the pavement was quite unclean. Sauron did not look forward to picking bits of glass and gravel from his Master’s skin. He hated to see him forced to show pain.

 

Sauron found a quiet bench in front of a clothing store for Melkor to sit on, and gently eased him down. He quite liked looking after the Dark Lord, for it pleased him to know nobody could serve Melkor this well. Nobody else had the strength nor the patience. And so Sauron took great pride in the little things he did for his Master.

“Find rest if you may, my Lord. I shall scout the area for you.” Sauron bowed deeply and turned, adding within his mind ‘ _Call if you need me. I am here for you.’_

_‘Of course.’_ came Melkor’s reply as he lazily reclined on the bench with his long legs stretched out. ‘ _Do not forget about me in thy excitement. I see thy mind.’_

Sauron only smiled at that, walking away. There was hope and determination in his eyes, making them shine from his pallid face. With his magical strength reserves high and spirits much the same, his appearance was beginning to take on more fair characteristics. While his skin would take long, his eyes and hair already gleamed with light. Melkor watched him leave. He wondered when he’d begun to appreciate Sauron’s beauty thus.

 

Dressed in his snappy suit with his long bright orange hair bouncing about, Sauron walked into a clothes store. He kept the bloodstain at his collar hidden, and his face reasonably neutral. Unusual positivity shone in his eyes and it charmed the pants off anyone who looked at him. He was still Sauron the Deceiver after all. He who had turned the minds of Elves and Men alike to his will and manipulated them all. It was easier than setting fire to dry grass.

This place was quite different from most fabric shops Sauron had seen during his time in Middle-Earth. There were no beautiful silk brocades hanging from the walls, no shimmering satin waterfalls spilling over marble countertops. Everything was neatly displayed on metal poles, racks of clothes organized by colour which pleased Sauron to some degree. He did love to obsess over neatness at times. As such, he could not help but straighten a few jeans left askew by other customers. Things could never be _too_ perfect.

Suddenly a woman was by his side, asking if he needed help. Sauron put on his best smile and batted his golden eyelashes at her.

“I was wondering if you might have any fashionable garments for taller men?” He tried to sound as informal and human as possible, noting the absence of tunics and leggings and assuming they did not sell here. The woman blinked for a moment and tilted her head to the left. Sauron mirrored her, knowing humans felt at ease with those who showed similar behaviour to themselves. 

“We do, many things in your size and above. Here.” She gestured to a section labeled “Mr Big”, with huge shirts and suits that looked like nothing Sauron had seen before. Many were the right height for Melkor, but far too wide around the waist. Sauron knew his Master to have a wonderfully sturdy form, a broad and powerful chest leading to a thick muscle-lined abdomen and square hips. Sauron had a more curvaceous figure with a slender waist and delightful softness everywhere else. He was reminded of this whenever Melkor touched him, on those rare and treasured occasions.

“See anything you like?” Interrupted from his thoughts, Sauron glared for a moment before masking his anger with a smile. The woman had seen it, for she’d been looking very closely at Sauron’s face. Now she stepped back, eyes wide and lips forming an apology.

“I shall buy this.” said the Maia with a quick click of his fingers, pointing to a tall black business suit in a similar style to his own. With it came a dress shirt and tie - not that Sauron knew how to tie one, seeing it as a curious piece of extra fabric that looked like a badly-made belt.

The saleswoman grinned nervously and lead Sauron to the counter, where she scanned the tags on the suit and pushed some buttons on the cash register. Sauron couldn’t help but stare, interested in this counting device with its little number pad and curious lights. After handing over most of the money in his wallet (two hundred dollars, vastly overpriced in Sauron’s opinion) he took the suit in its bag and walked out to find Melkor. Nothing had changed - only Melkor was now half asleep with a pigeon sitting on his head and looking quite comfortable there. Sauron didn’t want to wake his Lord from such a relaxed state, taking note of the parted lips and drooping eyelids that looked almost seductive. But people who walked past stared, and Sauron did not appreciate it.

“Master,” said Sauron softly, nudging Melkor’s shoulder with his free hand “I bought some clothes for you.” 

 

~

 

“These are far too big.” Melkor complained in the dark corner where he stood, getting dressed with Sauron’s assistance. As he pulled the waistband of his trousers out for emphasis, his servant commented with a “Maybe you should eat a little more and fill them with your ass.”

Aghast, Melkor frowned at Sauron only to see a frank, unapologetic grin.

“Do not tease me so.” said Melkor, his eyes darkening to a brownish-red. “I look a right fool.”

“No…” Sauron stepped closer and took the tie from the bag, looping it through the belt holes and tying it tight “You look like me.”

“Exactly. _A right fool._ ” 

Now it was Sauron’s turn to glare with narrowed eyes and pursed lips. 

“Why doth men of this age clothe themselves in such uncomfortable things?” Melkor whined, tugging at the collar of his shirt. “These are far too stiff, and loose on my wrists here, they make me look like a commoner in a potato sack-”

“My Lord, you look handsome in just about anything. Do not doubt your majesty.” Sauron’s eye twitched as he spoke, the forced and sudden grin at his lips faltering. Melkor noticed and thought it best to shut up, not wanting Sauron to start screaming at him as he’d done during times of stress and war. Sauron’s temper was far greater than his own, a side effect of being batshit crazy. At least Melkor’s personality was somewhat subdued with this new body and old mind. Sauron seemed to have not changed in the slightest. Although, he could be a little bold….

 

Melkor put those thoughts out of his mind and ran his hands through his hair. He still had traces of blood around his mouth and on his hands, even some on his neck from how much he’d eaten in the past day. Every time Sauron thought about it, he wanted to teach his Master some proper table manners. Or at least how to devour a corpse without getting the nasty bits everywhere.

“You must get your hands and face clean.” Sauron gestured to a puddle beneath a dripping tap, and saw the metal pipe to be a source of water. Soon the tap had been wrenched several times and water burst forth, getting all over Sauron’s shoes and pants.

“FUCK!” he swore, much to Melkor’s amusement. He did a little dance in the process of kicking his shoes off, and one hit the door on the building beside the tap. As Melkor bent to carefully dip his hands beneath the gushing water, the door opened and a man popped his head out.

“Oi! What are you two idiots doing to me plumbing?” 

Sauron snarled at him and threw his shoe straight at the man’s face. It knocked him out with the steel-capped toe and sent him to the floor. Melkor splashed a bit of water on his face, wondering what he’d missed. A seemingly dead man lay on the ground nearby.  
‘ _Ah, nothing new.’_

 

Afterwards, Sauron took Melkor into another store lined with shoes. Boots, loafers, high heels… Many expensive and high-quality examples of modern footwear. The store was busy, having a sale on which a door announcer frequently reminded potential customers of. Sauron showed Melkor the three hundred dollar price tag on the only pair of boots in the store big enough for him, and explained the concept of money within minutes.

Melkor, being the Dark Lord, had an evil idea. It made more sense to him than anything else, really.

“Why don’t we just take it?”

Sauron raised an eyebrow. That _was_ a good idea. Even better, nobody had heard them!

_‘Next time you have an idea like that, please do not speak it aloud. You wouldn’t want to inspire these filthy, robbing humans with your genius thought, would you?’_

Melkor smiled quietly at Sauron’s words. While having his servant zip the boots up for him, he ruffled the golden blonde hair just past his knees. 

‘ _I will keep that in mind. Thy hair shines like the fires of Mt Doom on this fine day, Sauron. It pleases me.’_

Sauron took a glance at his own hair hanging beside his cheeks and saw that it was true. He really _did_ look lovely with the extra power and optimism running through his body. These feelings were strange and he was not used to them - but gaining positivity through interaction with Melkor was always a thing he’d sought. Now that he had it, he only wanted more. He smiled, beautiful and true up at the face of his Master. With perfectly fitting shoes on his own feet and Melkor finally blending in with the rest of society, Sauron’s first problems had been solved. 

 

 

 


	4. This bloody place, I tell ya

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sauron and Melkor do the thing. Nastiness and lengthy descriptions ensue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp this one's embarrassing HUE HUE HERE BE TERRIBLY WRITTEN SMUT at the end (I don't think I've ever posted my smut to the internet before sooo lmao get your brain bleach ready)

Nobody suspected the two Ainur walking out with stolen shoes on their feet, for their barefoot entry had not been noticed in the first place. Melkor had tall black boots that zipped at the sides, while Sauron wore combat style lace-ups. They were comfortable enough to run in, and gave a little extra height to the pleased pair. 

“Whitherto now?” asked Melkor, his thick fingers twined with Sauron’s delicate ones. 

“I would much like to see where these people live, and secure a base of operations for us both.” Sauron cast his gaze around, keeping close to Melkor as he marched in step. Ah, now he felt like a proper lieutenant with strong boots and enough energy to take him anywhere. At the back of his mind, worries of finance and mentalities prickled sharp. But they could not take over Sauron’s gleeful focus now. He decided to ask the most well-dressed person he saw… a rich woman with long yellow ringlets of hair and a cream business suit with a feminine cut. 

“Pardon, milady. We are looking for accommodation and are new to this town. Might you be able to offer us assistance?” Sauron inclined his head just a little for extra politeness, knowing it worked wonders with snooty rich folk. Melkor was confused for a moment, having never seen his servant act like this towards any human or elf. Not even the Orcs got to see Sauron’s charm turned up to eleven. Sauron knew how to play the manipulation game well, and thought ‘ _If I can seduce Celebrimbor and steal from the ever-watchful shop owners of the world, I can do anything.’_ Remaining silent, Melkor looked at the woman with his blood-red eyes. She thought he was wearing contact lenses and was somewhat frightened by his appearance. He reminded her of the ex-husband who always came knocking at her door, sometimes with flowers, other times with an axe. She turned her nervous gaze shadowed by butterfly-shaped glasses to Sauron and smiled. 

“If you’re interested in real estate, I recommend you to the office over there.” 

Both Ainur followed the tip of her french-manicured index finger to the rather official looking building nearby, red and white letters spelling “Edoras House Tours”. It was an agency for those interested in the housing market in this area, which neither Sauron nor Melkor knew the name of. Melkor listened to his servant’s comprehension of the writing and understood what the building was for.

Without a word he tugged Sauron towards the door, much to his servant’s chagrin. Nearly stumbling over his own feet, Sauron caught up with Melkor and pushed the door open before Melkor could try pulling it. He knew when a door didn’t behave the way his Master expected it to, it would be pulled from its hinges within seconds. Melkor took disobedience from nobody. Not even doors.

Once inside, Sauron began thinking of how this would work. Go in, ask about places to live, wing it from there. 

_‘Seems legit.’_

Cripes! Sauron had forgotten that Melkor often listened to his innermost thoughts, private things and serious deliberations alike. He gave the Dark Lord a withering look and beckoned him to the reception desk. The man there stared at them, whereas everyone else kept their eyes on the various pictures of house facades pasted on the walls.

“May I help you?” asked the man, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt below the desk. Melkor was tall enough to notice, but said nothing. Sauron fixed his attention to the man’s dark brown eyes and penetrated his memory. Only for a second, for he needed knowledge of what questions the man had been asked that day and how he had responded. Once released, they blinked at each other until Sauron spoke.

“We are new here and wish to buy a house.” Melkor nodded along, catching the receptionist’s attention as his eyes glinted with excitement.

“Preferably a palace.” said the Dark Lord, folding his hands behind his back and rocking on his heels.

Sauron could have facepalmed so hard that his hand phased through his skull.

_‘Valar damnit! Leave the talking to me, if you please. Your mighty voice will frighten these pathetic creatures into chaos.’_  

‘ _If thou sayest. But consider some place deep and dark, for I miss the underworld with every second we walk in the sun._ ’

Sauron calmed himself then and smiled. 

“He means somewhere with a lot of space, away from the noise of the world.”

“Ahh, I know what you mean!” the receptionist replied while mirroring Sauron’s expression “Sometimes it’s just nice to get away from the city life, you know? So what price range are you looking at? We’ve got suburban flats for around two-fifty k, or high rise apartments for rent.”

Sauron blinked. “Two-fifty k? What is that?” He’d never heard such a term in his life, though upon assumption that it was a price he nearly had a heart attack. He’d spent two hundred currency units on Melkor’s clothes… could they have bought a house with that much money?!

The receptionist man laughed. “Too expensive? Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars for a fine plot of land with a nice, quiet house. I can find you two a place within moments if you like. We’ve got some open for inspection today-”

“Wait a minute!” Sauron interrupted with a look of sheer horror on his face. In his hand he held a green one-dollar note, its value printed in blocky letters near a person’s face. “You mean to say that I must collect two hundred and fifty _thousand_ of these papers and hand them over for a house?!” Just as he was about to flip his shit at the sudden impossibility of his insta-home plans, he felt Melkor’s hand upon his shoulder.

“We’d like to take a gander at thy ‘high-rise’ buildings, prithee.” The Dark Lord was all about living in towers and leering down at lesser folk from his home. Apartments made sense to him, even if he didn’t entirely understand the word. To his surprise, the receptionist gave him a friendly wink and made an odd shape with his lips.

“Renting is best for folk strapped for cash, you know. You have a good mind for the market, I can see it! Come and have a look with us today, there’s a tour to Gulduren Apartments leaving in half an hour.”

At the sound of the familiar name, both Melkor and Sauron exchanged glances.

‘ _Sorcery Apartments. A thing named in our tongue. Let us follow this man on his journey and see what happens.’_ Sauron’s voice nudged at the back of Melkor’s mind, earning a caress down his back in reply. Melkor wrapped his arm around Sauron’s waist then and nodded.

“We will.”

And so they waited, sitting on the soft green couches in the reception’s vast waiting room. Sauron glanced with mild interest at the various house posters, but nothing really caught his eye. Like peasant-huts they looked, with bricks and shapes all similar to each other. These were not beautiful things in his eyes. If only he could command his legions of orcs once more, have them understand his fantastic architectural blueprints and build a great palace for the Dark Lord! Then none of this ghastly human interaction would have to occur. Sauron’s lips hurt from pulling a fake smile for so long.

When the clock struck half past one, the receptionist walked over and gathered everyone to follow him. Outside they walked, roughly twenty people including Sauron and Melkor. So many humans itched at Melkor’s bloodlust, for the mere sight of Men made him want to slit their throats and bathe in their blood. But here he was, joining them for a house inspection and soon taking a walk down the road. It was rather unpleasant for him, for their incessant chatter pricked at his brain while the cars driving past made him flinch inside. So many wheeled boxes. Such strange transport. Nobody here rode wargs or horses. It seemed so… artificial. Unreal. _False._

It was then that Melkor began to doubt reality. It was beyond his godlike understanding of the world what was going on here. So many lights, but no magical energy. He could not feel the thrum of Arda’s lifeblood running through the grey metal poles with their sparkling red, yellow and green circles. Therefore, they were nothing but an illusion. But even illusions had the slightest tinge of sorcery to them. Melkor felt as if his sensations were dulled. The people around looked much the same. Some who sat in their wheeled boxes, waiting for the lights to change… their faces were sullen and clearly unhappy. Even the little humans walking with their mothers did not seem to bounce with joy as they headed to the park nearby. As Melkor held Sauron’s hand and continued with the group, he stared at a man in a particularly shiny silver car. It was a convertible with the top up, and slow violin music played from the radio within. Melkor heard the sound, but could not see anyone creating it. He also noticed the fur backing the driver’s seat, which the man leaned against with his eyes closed. What must it feel like to move in one of those boxes with the dead skin of an animal at one’s back and impersonal, recorded music coming from nowhere? Melkor found it a little distressing. Where was the thrill of feeling raw power and muscle beneath while riding a giant wolf or dragon? To have folk offering entertainment, minstrels with their songs and dancers with their bodies? Melkor clutched Sauron’s hand a little tighter and tethered himself to their world. What he saw now began to change. Businessmen on their phones became crazy peasants squabbling with the air. Cars were now horses and carriages, skyscrapers the towers of high Lords. Slowly Melkor began to ease himself into the fantasy of his own real world. Arda was displayed before his eyes once more, and there was not a soul in the world who could break him from his delusion.

It would take time. Acceptance. Two things the Dark Lord was not known to respect.

 

~

 

“We’re heeeeeeeere~!” announced the man leading their group, his untucked shirt tails fluttering in the wind as he skipped along. With true passion for house-selling, he made an extravagant open-armed gesture before the doors of a tall apartment complex. Sauron looked up, shielding his eyes from the midday sun. 

‘ _Gulduren Apartments, written there above the door. Thirty rows of windows high. A pole sticking out from the top. What is this….?!’_

Melkor glanced at Sauron upon hearing his thoughts, then looked back up at the tall building. It still appeared grey with square windows lining the face and two black doors at the front.

_‘What a boring tower this is. Why, the enemy could see everything through those windows! No sculptures, battlements, reinforced walls… How weak must these humans be?’_ Melkor gave a derisive snort, shaking his head. Sauron tugged at his hair to shush him, for a lady nearby was giving them some serious stink-eye from the side. Melkor didn’t approve of that at all and yanked Sauron’s hair unbelievably hard, ripping out a few strands. The lady looked away.

As Sauron rubbed his head, he vaguely caught what the receptionist leader-man was saying. There were many apartments for sale and to rent, all within the huge tower-like building. Each had a different price, some came with furniture and some were bare. They all had appliances installed, and lights. 

By the time everyone reached the elevators, Sauron was already thinking how he would be able to scam the real estate people of these expensive living spaces. A thousand dollars as rent for a month? Why, that was absolutely preposterous! Sauron did not want to work for a living just for the privilege of owning a house. He wouldn’t even own it, and neither would Melkor if they partook in this ‘rent’ charade. The humans were as greedy as ever. And inadvertently mistreating those who believed they deserved everything the world had to offer.

 

“I helped create this world, for Eru’s sake. Why should I pay to live in it?” grumbled Melkor as they crowded into the elevator, people still chatting excitedly about their investment plans.

“Master, shush.” Sauron held Melkor’s hand once more and stroked his fingers along the blackened skin. “‘Tis good that you understand our situation, but there’s no need to complain about it.”

Melkor was just about to start ranting at his servant when the elevator doors closed, and the floor beneath them rose. Sauron felt both panicked and afraid just as Melkor did at their sudden ascent. Gravity weighed upon them both and it went on for so long that they were nearly quivering by the time they reached the top floor.

_‘Wh...what was_ ** _that?!’_** Melkor’s own thoughts stuttered and he looked back at the elevator doors. ‘ _Magic rising boxes…’_

_‘Calm yourself... We are safe. It is some sort of transportation device, for look how high up we are! The humans use these instead of stairs.’_ Sauron tugged Melkor over to the open door of an apartment. Light from outside streamed through the window on the far wall within, and once Melkor took a closer look he could indeed see the top of many skyscrapers nearby. Everyone walked in and the inspection was soon underway. Melkor was almost giddy with delight as he strode to the window and looked down.

“Oh, this _is_ rather high indeed! Let’s live here.” he said to Sauron who stood firmly by his side. Sauron didn’t look too impressed.

“Are you really satisfied with such a small living space?” The Maia gestured around, showing the furnished apartment in its tiny glory. Facing west was the window they stood at, and it was a giant floor-to-ceiling thing that reached all the way to the kitchen. The kitchen, which was only five large strides away. It had a polished wooden counter and enough space behind it for three people to stand abreast, with several shining appliances such as an oven, dishwasher and fridge pressed up to the pale cream wall. Eighteen black marble tiles covered the kitchen floor up to where the counter ended opposite the tall chrome fridge. There, wood paneling in dark oak and mahogany colours lead to a single master bedroom down a three-meter hall. Melkor’s eyes followed Sauron’s hand to the right, where he braced his back against the window and looked in the direction of the entrance door. Before him was a fluffy beige carpet and a single armchair just a few steps from his feet. Directly to the right sat a plush couch upholstered in wine-red velvet, just the right shade to match the other colours in the room. In front of it was a dark brown coffee table with antique artistry to the detailing on its short legs.

“And here… you can place an entertainment unit, like a uh tv or whatever, dvd player, game consoles, there’s enough room and the angle would look ab-so-lutely divine..” The reception man wandered into Melkor’s view, showing a few people a one-meter space from the bottom left edge of the coffee table. The Dark Lord didn’t really see anything too interesting about it, only that if something were to be placed there, it would be somewhat obstructive to the view out the window. But the people listening seemed excited about that, some going to sit on the couch and armchair. The armchair was angled so that one sitting there could speak to a friend sitting on the couch, while also being able to look at whatever was placed at the spot near the table’s edge. Currently, the person seated in the armchair had their eyes on Melkor. He sneered at them, and their gaze soon turned away.

“Walk with me, Master.” said Sauron as he took hold of Melkor’s hand. “Come and see just how little space there is in this high-rise house. _Apartment._ Whatever it is called.” Melkor nodded and walked past the people around the coffee table. He trailed his fingers along the kitchen countertop as he passed it, then looked right. One door in the hallway was open there, and lead into a bathroom which he recognized due to its white-tiled walls and floors. It looked absolutely tiny, and the doorframe was barely high enough for his head! Sauron lead Melkor further down the short hall and on the left, there was a single door which lead to an empty room. At a direct right angle to that door was another open one - Melkor walked through after Sauron and immediately gasped.

“ _This_ is what they consider a bedroom? Why, it’s tiny! And this bed… looks incredibly cheap.” He sat on a portion of the thin white mattress, taking the half-folded display blanket in one hand. It was florally printed, and shone with a rather artificial look. No silken sheets, no thick feather pillows and definitely no hand-embroidered bedcovers. It was the comfort Melkor had known as one of the Valar, and what Sauron remembered from his time with the elves. A thing they both sought in a world where everything was too hard, cold and unpleasant. Sauron loved to be pampered and Melkor knew the benefits of a good night’s sleep. The bedroom was the place where fanciness belonged, and here they could see none. The carpet here was short and red, smelling of chemicals and false cleanliness. A single modern lamp with a tissue box beside it sat on a wooden end table, a dresser on the other side of the bed. It looked cluttered in Melkor’s opinion, and he didn’t hesitate to inform his servant of this. Sauron soon got up and shoved the pieces of furniture aside, creating more space by the sides of the bed. Now things looked a little better… but still too cramped. 

Melkor watched Sauron walk to the small window embedded in the wall to the right. Within his mind, he heard him speak.

_‘This place is small… but easy to barricade if we come under attack. Only three points of entry - the door, this window and the one in the main room. No royal chambers these are, but will suffice for a simple base of operations. What say you, my Lord?’_

Melkor took a few moments before he responded.

_‘If thou bethink these arrangements as suitable for us, then I see no reason to look elsewhere. Acquire this location.’_

 

Sauron left immediately to do his Master’s bidding. Upon making eye contact with the man leading the tour, he was suddenly greeted with a fake look of apology.

“I’m interested in this apartment….” Sauron began, but was cut off before he could continue.

“So sorry! It’s already been sold. This lovely couple here bought it five minutes ago!” said the man with a gesture to two people beside him. It was the lady who’d given Sauron an evil look, with a tall blonde man holding her handbag. She inspected her nails for a moment before drawing a checkbook from her pocket. Her husband handed her a pen, and she made a few scratches in the book before tearing out a sheet and handing it to the other man. 

“Thank you for your purchase! You’ve made a wonderful decision. I’ll help you set up direct debit for all your bills now if you’ll just come this way….” The three of them went to the kitchen and out of nowhere, papers came to be spread upon the countertop. While the woman snuck smirking glances at Sauron and signed things, the Maia was nearly shaking with rage. How _dare_ anyone take away the Dark Lord’s residential privileges, along with those of his servant? Did she _know_ who they were? Why, Sauron and Melkor were two of the most formidable folk ever to walk the earth! And Melkor was ever so picky with things such as where he lived and what he wore. If it wasn’t intimidating enough to his enemies, it just wouldn’t do.

Sauron had no clue why Melkor settled for this place when he hadn’t even considered other choices. But he’d seen the acceptance and lack of open dislike in his Master’s eyes, and knew this was their chosen place. For now. 

_‘I must acquire this location to please my Lord. Whatever the cost.’_ Sauron’s eyes gleamed with malice, his pupils becoming thin and catlike. He felt his power wavering at a plateau, just waiting to be unleashed. He could kill everyone in this room if he wanted to. Oh, and he did. But at an undesirable effect - destroying most of the furniture. No, this required stealth. He sat himself on the edge of the coffee tableand began to plot.

 

~

 

The inspection ended at two-thirty, and Sauron was fuming by Melkor’s side as they looked up at Gulduren Apartments. Melkor’s gaze rested upon his servant in confusion and upset.

“Did I not tell thee to-” A sudden hand to his face stopped his voice low in his throat. Sauron’s eyes were fixed upon the ground, clearly concentrating now that Melkor looked a little closer. He decided to forgive his servant’s insubordination for now. There they stood, and four minutes passed. Melkor was getting fidgety, his dark fingertips scratching against the flesh of his palm. Back and forth, like the brushing of ash with a broom. Sauron could hear the noise and it grated on his nerves. He actually sighed with relief when a louder sound came by to distract him - the slam of the two metal doors at the building’s entrance. The woman and man who now owned the apartment strode out, looking rather pleased with themselves. Behind them was the still smiling tour guide who ran his fingers along the check in his hands, dreaming of the commission he’d get from the sale. Sauron scowled at him so hard the man actually tripped over his half-halted step. Melkor laughed at the sight and their lost accommodation woes were temporarily forgotten.

 

Schadenfreude was not enough to clear Sauron’s wicked mind, however. While Melkor snickered with sadistic glee, his servant watched the people walk away in a hurry. The sight of the Dark Lord dressed like a businessman and openly giggling could perhaps be a little unnerving to some. Sauron found it quite adorable.

“Master, I have a plan.” he said with a touch to Melkor’s arm.

“Oh? Fantastic! Do tell.” Melkor swiveled on his heel to look into Sauron’s eyes, bending to be at the Maia’s eye level. Sauron was unused to being treated as a short person, as Melkor usually leered down his nose to talk to him. But it was… invigorating, to have such undivided attention beaming into his face. Sauron could practically _feel_ his Master’s excitement radiating from his skin. Or perhaps it was through their strong mental connection that his nerves tingled thus. He smiled pleasantly and began to speak of his plan in Black Speech, the best way to communicate evil ideas.

“It begins with our entrance to the building.” Melkor nodded while side-stepping his way towards the doors. Sauron straightened him up and held his own head high. “We take the numbered transport box to that certain floor…” Without hesitation, Melkor followed his servant into the elevator. Sauron broke eye contact for a minute to select the seventeenth floor, where he remembered the tour guide pressing the button and making it light up. Apparently, touching and lighting the number made the box rise to a specific floor. He wondered what was on the other floors, especially the one at the top. It seemed… natural for the Dark Lord and his servant to live at the highest point of their tower. Pah, they should _own_ the whole thing! Sauron’s voice brimmed with excitement as he explained further.  
“The apartment here is still open… come, let’s go in. Here is where we have some _fun_.” Upon leaving the elevator and taking the same route into the apartment opposite, Sauron waited for Melkor to walk in and then shut the door. His eyes gleamed a dark malicious red, matching those of his Master.

“When those worthless creatures come to settle in to _our_ stronghold, we kill them! Simple as that. We crack their necks before they can scream, and the location is yours.” Sauron had barely spread his arms to accentuate his master plan’s reveal when Melkor slammed him into the wall, their bodies pressed close. His breath came in short, warm bursts down Sauron’s neck.

“By the fires of Utumno… how terribly thou speaketh of killing these men! Oh, tell me… can we _bleed them?_ ****Tear their watching eyes and weak little hands from their bodies? Make them regret what they have done?”

Sauron groaned at that, nodding with enthusiasm. The consonants of their dark tongue burst from his lips like hot oil crackling in a pan.

“Oh, yes… to think that they can inhabit this place before you is unforgivable… We shall flay them living and make them choke on their own screams… Push bones through flesh and drown them in blood. Not on the carpet, though.”

Melkor chuckled at that and sank his teeth into Sauron’s neck, chewing on him with fondness and delight.

“Mmmm… and they shan’t taste half well as thee. Come, forget about the carpet for a moment. This is where thou taketh thy reward.”

Sauron knew he had done well and keened with pleasure, Melkor’s teeth drawing blood and his tongue laving at hot flesh. The Dark Lord shoved his hand between his servant’s legs, squeezing the softness of a clothed thigh. There he cupped a rising hardness, shamelessly fondling Sauron with a grin.

“Aaahhhnn…” Sauron threw back his head and moaned into the air, bucking his hips forth to contact Melkor’s broad palm. He began to grind against it and earned a fierce squeeze in reply, Melkor’s mouth once more occupied with marking his servant all over. High whimpers escaped Sauron for he could not restrain himself at the nip of sharp teeth and the sudden slap of Melkor’s hand. And then there was pulling, so needy and _strong_ that the seams burst at Sauron’s inner thighs, his trousers ripped away to reveal absolutely nothing underneath. Melkor wasn’t surprised - he would be shocked if Sauron wore the undergarments of another man. As expected, Sauron remained perfectly clean as he always was where Melkor’s hand crept up. Nothing but flesh he felt there, lovely to squeeze and quivering at his touch. Hotter than the fires of hell was the tightness of Sauron’s body, Melkor teasing just where he knew Sauron wished for him to go. But not now, not without something to ease the way. Sauron’s leg lifted to open himself a little more, offering as much access to his Master as he could. His breathy gasps filled the air, sweet and broken with intermittent shudders. Melkor pulled back to gaze upon the sight of his servant, upper body glistening with freshly spilt blood and neck bared with countless red marks on display.

“Oh, I shall eat thee alive…” purred Melkor as he picked up Sauron from his one-legged balancing position. Sauron curled in Melkor’s arms with one hand between his legs and another at his back. Melkor’s wrist pressed up against the softness between Sauron’s legs and his hand kept a firm grip on half a buttock there. He had half a mind to tell the Maia to stop wriggling or he would slip his balls out through the back of his ass. Sauron seemed intent on doing just that, while writhing and sighing with his mouth hanging open. He fell onto the couch face-first in a rather ungraceful heap, soon squished into the velvet cushions by Melkor’s mighty weight. The Dark Lord fumbled with his pants for a moment and pulled the tie from his waist, the makeshift belt flying into the armchair behind him. Those oversized pants came off next, along with the rest of Melkor’s clothes in a flurry of grunts and rips. Sauron was caught beneath it all and by the time Melkor was undressed, Sauron was practically begging amidst his own torn clothes. He pressed his face into the cushions, back aching with how he twisted his spine. And suddenly there was warmth, so great that Sauron felt he was burning alive. Being of a fierce fire-spirit, such a thing was impossible. Yet Melkor set his very blood aflame. The hot wetness of the Dark Lord’s tongue pressed into Sauron’s tight entrance, mercilessly pressing as deep as it could go. Melkor kissed sloppily and with the most obscene sounds at Sauron’s plea, hearing the cry for more, deeper, _more…_

Melkor feasted until Sauron was absolutely dripping. From both front and back, the scent of arousal rose until it sank into the cushions. Sauron openly humped the couch just to provide friction to his aching cock, while Melkor licked at him deep within. Only when Sauron neared his peak did Melkor withdraw and hold him still. Moments passed in a tense state of rest, until they went at it again, Melkor’s fingers stretching Sauron as wide as he could go. That night Sauron bled plenty for his Lord, and Melkor relished in the sweet blood spilling everywhere but the carpet. On the couch, where it was unseen… In his hair, where it dripped down the sides of his cheeks… All over Sauron, where it belonged. At hungry mouths and groping hands. So much, and it never ran dry. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't bear writing any more lmaooo it didn't feel right, my smut doesn't work anywhere else but my mind and ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)


	5. Fun and games in the brisk morning air

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Casual gore. Legit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep it's a gory filler chapter. I just like detailing events ok ;u;

 

Sauron’s mind was swimming with the haze of several hours of blissful orgasm when the sensation of being crushed came to his attention. Melkor’s still form rested upon him, and they were both on the white and red stained couch.

‘ _Disgusting…’_ thought the Maia, wondering which marks were his and which belonged to Melkor. Certainly, most of the blood was from himself. It regenerated and pumped so quickly, the living room looked like the site of a massacre. In a few hours, it would be.

Melkor groaned low and throaty as his lips parted into what became a yawn. Sauron, somewhat annoyed at their unclean state bashed his head up into Melkor’s face. The Dark Lord choked on thick orange-gold hair and awoke with a fierce cough.

“ ** _Ghek!_** Sauron, why didst thou do that?!”

Sauron scrunched his eyebrows down and attempted to wriggle from beneath his Master. Melkor was having none of it and pulled on Sauron’s hair with his teeth, earning a yelp from his servant.

“Look at the state of us!” cried Sauron, wincing at the pain at his scalp “Absolutely filthy! What if someone were to come in and-”

“We kill them. Simple as that.” Melkor interrupted Sauron while fully knowing the Maia absolutely _hated_ that. “Thou nearly broketh mine teeth. Do not do that again.” He took Sauron’s lack of response as compliance, and eased on his efforts to keep him pinned.Sauron squeezed his way to freedom and fell off the couch with a shriek. Melkor was laughing at him when a sudden sound caught his attention. The ‘ding’ of an elevator. Something he wasn’t used to, and thus caused alarm. Sauron heard it too and jumped up, hearing footsteps coming towards the door.

_‘Hide yourself! Quickly!’_ He urged Melkor through their connection to make himself scarce, but for a seven-foot beast of a man it was a little difficult to do so. Still not sure what was going on, Melkor rose from the couch and went looking for his pants. Sauron rolled his eyes.

‘ _Must I do_ ** _all_** _the work myself?!’_ ****The door clicked, and Melkor froze. The air actually chilled around him and his pupils shrank to almost nothing. Slowly, the door opened and a woman walked in. She took one look at Melkor’s nude form and gasped to scream, but Sauron clamped his hand over her mouth and cracked her neck as far back as it would go. Her husband had been staring towards the window down the end of the hall and was suddenly met with his wife’s body flung at him, the edge of her skull connecting straight with his own. Sauron’s breath hitched in excitement as he gasped for breath, feeling adrenaline run through his veins. Now with one dead and another knocked out, the apartment was secure. Water and electricity would come in easy supply until the dead woman’s bank account ran dry. And judging by the quality of her fur coat and many gold rings, that wouldn’t be for quite some time. Ah, to kill rich people. Sauron loved it. It reminded him of his long-awaited revenge plans against the Noldor, Celebrimbor in particular. Whenever he saw anyone wearing golden rings it sparked his killer instinct.

Melkor smirked in approval and helped Sauron to drag the bodies inside. Once the door was shut, Sauron brought the woman over to the kitchen sink and removed his hand from her mouth. Blood came pouring from where one of her spinal vertebrae had severed an artery in her neck, gushing out her mouth and down the drain. The Dark Lord watched with interest, absently slapping the man across the face with his own hands. Smeck, smeck, smeck. And then the man woke up.

“The fuck is going on here?” he muttered, mildly concussed with his vision blurred. Sauron jumped out of his skin and promptly crushed the man’s head into the countertop with his free hand.

“Master!” Sauron got ready to chastise the Vala who now grinned and looked so sheepish it pissed him off. But he barely got a word out before a shrill scream echoed in the hallway. A tall man with a sheet-white face and tousled brown hair was quailing with a large box on his foot, having dropped it after stumbling out the elevator. Panicked, Sauron looked from side to side.  
‘ _Hurry, hide the bodies! Into the silver box!’_  

Melkor flung open the fridge and was hit with a pleasant blast of cold air. He and Sauron folded the woman’s bleeding corpse into the freezer, which was just large enough to contain her overdressed form. There was no time for the man, however. The door was being inched open by a rounded shoulder and any minute now the intruder could glance into the apartment. Melkor ducked, Sauron nudged the unconscious man aside and lay low beneath the lip of the counter. 

“Owww…. You guys are lucky I have health insurance… what’s in this box anyway?” The intruder set the box down beside the door and stretched, his black shirt embroidered with the logo of his employer. _Meriadoc’s Movers._ He looked around to see the man whom he recognized from minutes ago. These rich folk only paid one mover to shift all their belongings, and apparently had the time to rest. 

‘ _Yes, let me do all the work. You people are so lazy. My foot hurts…’_ While he whined in silence, the mover shook his head and turned to leave. His step halted there by the doorway. An audible sniff, then the slow roll of eyes to the left. He could smell blood, nasty and metallic and oh-so-familiar. Just last week he’d split his finger open while peeling an apple. His hand had been twitching near knives ever since. 

“Are you alright?” Looking at the unmoving man with his head resting on the kitchen counter, he could see the reflection of closed eyes and a slack jaw in the polished wood. It bothered him slightly, for there was something off about the angle of his neck, the way his upper body looked uncomfortable and limp… 

The mover man had two options. To further inquire about the unconscious fellow and wonder where his wife had gone, or to look inside the heavy box and sate his first curiosity. He was not paid enough for this job to have much of a moral compass. And surely these rich folk would not miss a gold bar or two? Whatever was in that box sure felt like it.

With a glance out the hallway and back into the apartment, the mover kept his eyes on the man while easing down into a crouch. He ran the tip of his bandaged index finger along the strip of packing tape holding the box shut. Knife. He needed one. Nobody in the room saw his very obvious shiver, for Melkor and Sauron were still hiding and there was a dead woman in the freezer. How he feared sharp things! With their menacing gleam and pointy bits… their quiet, ruthless killing efficiency. The box would make little sound if slit open with a sharp enough knife. But the mover could not bear to do it. For one, there was the chance of another accident and fingerprints against him if he took a blade from the kitchen. But ripping the tape away from its tantalizing half-peeled edge… Oh, how terribly he wished to just get the damn thing open already! 

As he deliberated upon this self-inflicted choice, Sauron was growing cold. No less wary, but freezing his nipples on the black marble-tiled floor. Just a few inches away he could see the wood-paneled floor of the hall in its various shades of brown. Why of all places did _here_ have to be tiled? Tiles belonged in the bathroom, not the kitchen! Nobody with a brain in Middle-Earth would have used precious marble tiles in as dirty a place as this. While Sauron grumbled to himself about stupid humans too lazy to sweep floors and so rich they tiled their kitchens, Melkor’s curiosity poked at him with no ease. His mind was so childlike now and he barely realized it - pursue pleasure, tantrum in its absence, wonder about every single thing and delay to obey the orders of another. Such was the effect of this world on his mind. Sauron remained exactly the same, irritable and cold. 

“What are you two doing?”

Sauron looked up to see the mover man gazing at them both, his eyes unfocussed and a knife in his hand. The Dark Lord suddenly moved with great reflex and grabbed the man’s ankle, sending him to the floor. A crack and thump shook the walls, the man’s skull nearly cracked and his ankle crushed in Melkor’s strong grip. Magic and strength came as simply as breathing to Melkor and he jerked the man’s entire leg out with a loud _‘pop’_. Howls and shrieks spilled from a gaping mouth, Sauron taking momentary pleasure in the man’s agony but pushing his sadism aside for efficiency’s sake. He sat on the man’s face and clenched his ass so hard, every sound was muffled in his soft but toned flesh. Melkor found the sight arousing beyond measure, standing to gaze upon his servant’s scowling face.

“Crush his lungs and heart, Master. If he screams and more people come, it will not end well for us.” Sauron gestured between his legs to where the man’s sternum heaved up and down with the shuddering attempts at escape. Melkor’s cruelty was second nature and his foot came down upon the breathless chest, ribs cracking beneath the combined force and weight. Bone splintered around Melkor’s downward push, puncturing lungs and skewering the heart. When he stepped away with foot bloodied and stiff, the man screamed no more.

 

~

 

Melkor and Sauron spent the day chopping up the three bodies and storing them in the freezer. All blood was drained in the shower, which Sauron scoped out and noticed the drain hole in the relatively secluded glass stall. While he didn’t know how to work the taps or what the showerhead was for, he used it to hang each body from and let everything drain from a slit throat. There was a lot of mess in the kitchen from the rushed game of hide-the-body, spilt blood and a few bits of crushed ice that fell from the woman’s fur coat. Sauron glared at her when they removed her from the freezer. And promptly stole her coat. With her dress he mopped the tiles, finding them easier to clean than he’d expected. They didn’t even retain any smell! Much easier to clean than porous wood, that was certain. Melkor sat on the countertop and swung the mover’s detached leg around like a toy. He watched Sauron take care of things, pleased that they would now have a week’s worth of food. Come to think of it, he was a little hungry after using his power this morning. It was difficult for the Dark Lord to keep track of how much strength he used, what was magic and what was not. Upon asking Sauron he was told that _‘Doing things makes you need food. Let me do the work. I need less to eat than you.’_

An hour passed, and the shower looked like someone had exploded in there. The kitchen was clean at least, and there were three severed heads in the vegetable compartment. Sauron had organized legs, arms and bodies into the best cuts of rump, breast and ribs. The mover man had a nice bit of muscle on him, and Sauron dreamt of the best ways to cook him. He and Melkor had been eating humans for millenia, after all. Elves too, for a bit of sweet dessert. Neither missed their presence, however. The world didn’t need those pointy-eared little rebels running around and causing trouble. Killing and making some sort of life here was good enough for the two Ainur, and they began to settle.

By midday, Sauron was pacing the living room while fretting about the state of the couch. He knew how to clean, but there were no supplies around! No towels in the bathroom, no water sources he could see (the taps in both kitchen and bath were metal rods that turned left and right to control temperature - Sauron had no clue how to use them and did not want to break anything)… The toilet had a little water in it but Sauron wasn’t about to soak any cloth in there - he didn’t know who had used it, and though it looked clean it was a thing he knew to contain germs. In his search for water, Sauron lifted off the cistern on the toilet and saw some filtered water in there. 

‘ _Humans keep their water in these white boxes? How odd. One would think a bucket or barrel would suffice… Oh well. The times have changed.’_ Sauron sniffed for a moment and couldn’t smell anything wrong, so he went and grabbed the trousers he’d taken from the woman’s husband. They were a little rough and grainy but soaked up water well enough, and Sauron set to work at cleaning the couch with them. The carpet too… only there wasn’t much his water was doing for dried blood. Ah, he needed vinegar.. Salt…. Some of those strong elven soaps he’d stolen and replicated from his time with the Noldor… 

“Master, we must get some cleaning supplies. Otherwise there will be blood and semen in the sofa and carpet forever.” The frankness of his voice made Melkor laugh, and soon the Dark Lord stood beside his servant to observe the scene. A few blood spatters marred the plush beige carpet, whitish-translucent stains appearing quite obviously on the couch. The longer Sauron looked, the more his need for order and cleanliness plucked at his nerves. He glanced away before he could start fuming, and pressed his face into Melkor’s arm. Melkor welcomed him into the side of his chest and wrapped that arm around Sauron’s shoulders with an unconcerned look.

“It matters not. I’ll be fucking thee against the walls in time, and never has anyone cared for the stains in Angband.”

“We are not in Angband any more!” Sauron snapped, a fierce blush colouring his fiery cheeks. “You may be fine with orc-filth and whatnot hanging from the walls but I simply detest it!”

“Deal with it!” said Melkor, shrugging his budding anger away. “Hast thou been to the Void lately, Sauron? Perhaps it shall please thee. No stains, no blood, nothing. Thou shalt be comfortable there without my love and its effects.”Thus he turned away, his arm slipping from Sauron’s shoulders and coming to rest by his side with a clenched fist. Sauron stared at him with a queer look, head tilted just a little and eyebrows somewhat tense. The silence grew, filling the room with suffocating tension. Melkor’s dark red eyes gazed unseeing out the window, his mind in a different place. Oh, he remembered. Being driven to the brink of madness, his brother’s sweet words that begged for repent and sounded like taunts… He remembered the black, the peace, the Void.

 

Sauron had never seen his Master cry.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I accidentally kudo'd this while checking paragraph alignment on another computer and I feel like an absolute walnut lmaooooo still feels nice to have 20 people think I done good XD


	6. The Secrets of the Rich

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ah yes the glorious OOC chapter where everything’s a lie and nothing makes sense. Plottish crack ahead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao shit begins here (or at least is set up) top lel prepare for hell

 

Melkor frowned at nothing as hot tears burned his pale grey face. His magic had waned in the past hour, yet his hunger went wholly ignored. These things meant nothing to a lone Vala in limbo for eternity. Melkor had been through much in his life, but nothing truly compared to the time he spent in the Void. His heart did not beat, his lips could not speak. He was left to float while bound, and no matter how he moved he could not sense any change. His ability to affect the world around him had been revoked, and it scarred him deep inside.

His mind often turned to the great peace and overwhelming nothingness he’d grown so used to over the years. Thousands and thousands of years. Valian years. Nobody spoke to him, there was nothing expected of the mightiest Vala than to sit and endure his punishment. When he flashed to these times, it was his mind calling for calm and the only way he could get it was to remember the Void. Days he would spend without motion or sound. But when interrupted… it was not a pretty sight.

Sauron ached to see his Master distressed and mentally kicked himself for stressing the Dark Lord so terribly he lapsed into old thoughts. It was dangerous now, if Melkor decided to induce a meditative state from which only sharp touch could break him from. This human body his spirit occupied needed to eat. What would become of him if he went without for days?

“Master, I beg your forgiveness. My nature is blind in its pursuit of perfection, often lacking in tact for your needs. Please, do not cry…” Sauron’s hand came to rest by Melkor’s forearm but was instantly shoved away.

“Thine orders are ceaseless!” Melkor wailed, smacking Sauron across the face. “Thou asketh of me always to clean, to be silent, to play life by thy rules! I-I try so very hard, and still ‘tis never enough!” Sauron clutched his stinging cheek and scrambled back on the coffee table, witnessing the Dark Lord’s anguish completely unleashed. Melkor’s face glistened with bloody tears, the only thing he could cry now for there was no water hot enough to express his burning pain. All drama aside, Melkor turned away and cut the air with his hand.

“I am thy Master, for the sake of all things dark. Why dost thou treat me so?” 

Sauron looked at him then, Melkor with his body angled away and one hand flat towards Sauron, the other at his forehead with only fingers touching his face. Oh! How very melodramatic he looked! An absolute picture like an actor on a stage. Sauron began to apologize as his vision faded, the words dying on his tongue until he opened his eyes.

Melkor stood beside him, looking over the couch with a smirk. It took Sauron a few seconds to figure out what happened.

‘ _Fucking foresight.’_ he growled to himself, shaking his head and bending to the floor. He tried to scrub a little more out of the carpet, succeeding only in making it wet. Melkor watched him with mild interest.

“We will need to obtain some cleaning items…” said Sauron carefully, watching Melkor’s mental state with his own alert mind. Luckily he’d phrased his question well and Melkor shrugged it off. 

“Do what thou liketh, I say. Blood bothers me not. The task is thine to worry for.” And with that, he turned and sat himself on the slightly damp couch. He crooked his finger for Sauron to come close. 

“Bleed for me a little more, lovely one. I thirst for thee.” 

 

~

 

Melkor had sated his appetite with a nice chunk out of Sauron’s neck, something which regenerated before the Maia could collapse. There was a thrill to skirting the edges of real danger and sensual play, and the two Ainur lived for it. Sauron traced circles with a finger on Melkor’s bare chest as the sun dropped from its high point in the sky. As light streamed from the west-facing window, Melkor squinted his eyes.

“Why are there no curtains there?” He nudged Sauron, who blearily looked up through half-shut lids. 

“Humans dislike the darkness, I suppose.” came the mumbled reply, Sauron resting his head once more by Melkor’s chest.

“Let us go and find some tomorrow.” The Dark Lord loved procrastinating just as his servant did, especially when in such comfortable situations like this. Sauron nodded, and closed his eyes. Melkor covered his own with his hand. There they rested, until night fell and the starlight struggled past the city’s smog.

 

~

 

It was two hours to midnight when Melkor became restless, feeling Sauron fidget in his lap. Their sleep schedules were strange and unbalanced, for their immortal bodies had never needed rest to function. Both were quite awake now and the city had just begun to calm down. Less horns honked from the streets below, and there was near-silence this high up in the apartment building.

Melkor loved prowling about at night, for the darkness was his comfort and little else could surpass it. He rose with Sauron in his arms and went without explanation to get himself dressed. Sauron followed his Master’s movements and resigned to wearing the suit with its bloodied collar and dress shirt beneath.

“Where are we going?” he asked, buttoning up his trousers over his bare waist.

“To get some curtains, of course. And those cleaning supplies thou mention’d.” Melkor smiled at Sauron as if he expected praise for taking the initiative this evening. They needed things, and he was going to acquire them! Absolutely brilliant! 

Sauron went cross-eyed in response and glanced out of the bedroom window. By his feet at the bedside lay folded clothes, the mover’s uniform and the mostly clean clothes of the other man. The night was chill; Sauron could feel it from the gap in the window. He went and shoved it closed, but still there was a strange mist clouding the glass. When he removed his hands, there were prints shaped in condensation.

“Cold?” Melkor chuckled and threw a bundle of fabric to his servant. Sauron saw it coming in the slight reflection of the window and turned to catch the fur coat, which Melkor had swiped from the lamp. Sauron thought the lamp was an ornate hanger, and had no understanding of how electricity worked. Only that it came in the form of lightning, and the humans could hold it in their rectangular boxes. He shrugged the coat on over his suit, not liking the contrast of white fur against bluish grey. White had never been his colour. Melkor thought he looked like a fluffy kitten with the fur brushing the sides of his face and went over to give him a hug. His black suit still looked too large but would do well to make him blend with the night. Sauron did not attempt to push him away.

When they broke apart, Sauron took in his hand the bag he’d bought Melkor’s clothes in. It was a minimalistic thing of dark brown, with thin white writing on the side reading ‘ _Bullseye Clothing - We hit the fashion spot!_ ’. There were also a few rings in the shape of a logo on one side of the bag. 

“We will put our items in here, I’ve seen the humans do it when they come out of the shops.” Sauron waved the bag around and Melkor nodded, his boots clicking against the wood paneling as they walked down the hall. It was only a few feet long, but served its purpose nonetheless. Upon reaching the door, Sauron opened it for his Master and followed him out. He hoped no more intruders would come into their apartment - so far, Sauron hadn’t figured out how to lock and unlock the door. There was a keycard reader on both sides of the wall however, and it reminded Sauron of the thing he’d seen the interrogator woman use at the police station. A card.. He needed a card. One with the little black strip that could make the box light up. The _ding_ of the elevator interrupted his thoughts, and all he could do was shut the door and hope for the best.

They came out the front of Gulduren Apartments with Melkor breathing the crisp night air like he’d been starved of it all his life. 

“Ahh… now where are those shopping places?” He looked left and right, remembering the straight walk down the street from the inspection tour. To the left was the corner of a triangular-shaped building, its edge only one window thick and pointing towards the apartments. Melkor saw one street veering into the distance, and the one he stood on going only two ways.

“Let’s go this way.” He gestured to the left where the road was straight, its end shrouded in darkness. Sauron nodded and moved to follow his master when a white gleam caught his eye. Parked right on the road was a big white van, its back doors flung open. 

“Master, look! One of the boxes…” Sauron called Melkor’s attention with a firm mental tug and drew him over to the back of the van. It had been the mover man’s vehicle of choice in transporting the rich folks’ possessions, now abandoned as its driver and anyone who cared for the contents was dead. Melkor approached with caution, Sauron more curious than anything as he climbed into the back. There were boxes everywhere, of many sizes and all taped up nicely.

‘ _Before we consider buying anything in the shops, we should check these boxes to see if they have what we need.’_ Sauron believed those boxes were standard issue for storage purposes, having used chests of wood of similar construction back in the First Age. In his forges, he’d stored many gems in organized compartments that looked much like an array of cardboard boxes. When he opened the largest one, he was greeted with a loud _foof_ as hundreds of packing peanuts burst in a flurry of white.

“It’s a TRAP!” cried Melkor, lunging for Sauron’s obscured form to protect him. Sauron yelped as he faceplanted into the box, narrowly missing his eye being poked out by a wrapped crystal ornament. The packing peanuts went absolutely _everywhere_ , spilling from the flattened box all over the two Ainur and out the back of the van.

“Fucking shit! Master, get **OFF!** I am _fine_!!” Sauron wriggled around and flipped himself over to see Melkor with a mouthful of white, chewing with interest on the strange substance. 

“Don’t _eat_ them, damn it!” Melkor was promptly smacked in the face and spat out the oddly tasty packaging material. 

“Bweh! Sauron, I am only curious-”

“If you’re hungry, eat me! Not these… stupid white things! Gah! Why are there so many?!” Sauron was nearly drowning in the stuff and grabbed the ornament from beside his head, taking a quick look at it. Wrapped in newspaper. Wasn’t too good-looking. He threw it aside, and winced at the smash.

‘ _Ah. Valuable. Whoops.’_

Melkor looked around to ensure they were both safe, and sat himself on a box nearby. It caved almost immediately and he found even more fluff in pink and white blasting out the sides. He gave a shriek of both surprise and delight, floundering in the packing peanuts like a cat on crack.

Sauron had only just woke up and felt a headache approaching already. But he could not deny Melkor looked cute when he was this happy, throwing clouds of styrofoam lumps into the air and grinning like mad. He probably _was_ mad; for the Dark Lord Sauron knew of the old days would never act like this.

While deciding whether or not he had a problem with Melkor’s newfound joy, Sauron absently squished one of the pellets between his fingers. It was soft, but wouldn’t deflate all the way. Naturally, Sauron wanted to crush every last one. He ripped it apart with his fingers and was suddenly met with a poof of white. The powder settled on his fingers, and it was then he noticed that Melkor was covered in it. Hesitant to breathe, Sauron brought his hands to eye level and inspected the powder. It looked like fine sugar, and he wasn’t entirely sure what to do with it. He couldn’t even think about what it was, what with the commotion Melkor was making as he frolicked in the peanuts.

“Master, would you shut up for a second? I’m trying to figure out this… ah, Master? Are you alright?” Sauron was now faced with Melkor’s intense stare, whose pupils dilated to the point that his eyes were almost entirely black. Melkor had a manic grin on his face and most of the powder from his suit had settled in his hair. Some even stuck to his lips, which he licked as if eager for their taste.

“I’m absolutely _fantastic._ Why art thou sitting there? Come! We must acquire curtains and salt! **_TO THE SHOPS!”_** And with that, he grabbed Sauron by the neck and bolted out the back of the van. Down the road he ran, straight along the barely-lit street to which he knew no end. Sauron could only try to keep up and hold his head on his shoulders. There was something strange about that powder. He would have to come back to it later.

The street ended with a parking lot to the right, convenience store on the left and an alleyway straight ahead. Sauron thought his Master would walk through the alleyway and begin their night-time sneaky fun, but Melkor zipped through like a whirlwind and let out a shrill cackle.

Sauron slipped free and stared at him in absolute shock.

“What in the name of all things evil is _wrong_ with you?!” He’d planned out their covert operation, one of stealing while the shop-owners slept and filling his bag with necessary items. But now the bag was missing (he’d left it in the van), Melkor seemed completely insane and there were probably policemen waiting around the corner. Just like in the location where Melkor and Sauron first arrived, there were cameras here too but thankfully nobody watched them at this hour. They were just there.. Left to record and do nothing more. Try as he might, Sauron could not get Melkor to calm himself and was going to lecture his Master when the Dark Lord threw himself into a window. The entire thing shattered and Melkor combat-rolled into the store, the exact same place Sauron had bought his clothes in. With the Mission Impossible theme playing in the distance, Melkor shifted around the store looking for some nice curtains. Sauron was absolutely appalled, knowing someone had surely heard the glass break and would be on their asses in minutes. Naturally, he joined Melkor in stealing as much as he could in the shortest amount of time. Melkor swept the shop floor with his supreme night vision and Sauron checked out the doors near the back. The doors were locked, and Sauron put his finger to the hinges to melt them away. Carefully controlling his magic output took all his concentration, which broke the moment he heard a crash and shout. He turned to look and saw Melkor inspecting a cash register, one he’d ripped from its place and set down in a pile of clothes. There was no money inside, and Melkor wondered what the dead machine was for. No lights, no sounds. Just a hunk of metal. He quickly lost interest and went back to his curtain search, with long bedsheets trailing behind him like a cape. That was the best way he could think of for carrying his new ‘curtains’, even if they were a little thin and flimsy-looking... To tie them around his neck and look like a superhero. Sauron snorted at the sight and kicked the door from its hinges, breaking into a room with a sink, tiled floor and a table with some chairs around it. Nearby was a fridge and beneath the sink, the cupboard was half open. Inside, Sauron found many bottles with such terrible smells he knew at once not to drink them. One of them read _‘Oxy-clean’_ , and Sauron wondered if this was some magic product that cleaned whatever it touched. 

‘ _I’ll test this when we get back. I wonder what’s in the cold box….?’_ The fridge held many things from milk to leftover tuna pasta, which didn’t look too appetizing to the fussy Maia. He took the milk bottle, some canned drinks and a slab of lasagna trapped in a shallow plastic dish. It had a transparent film over it and when Sauron turned it upside down, the lasagna didn’t move. Fascinating! Anti-gravity pastameat in a half box. The world only got stranger the more he discovered.

The next room he broke into was something of a jackpot. Cases filled with money rested atop a long white table. Tubes came from the ceiling and dipped into wide boxes that had empty capsules inside. This was the counting room, where the money from the registers went after closing time. Sauron cleaned the place of any signs of cash, filling his pockets and swiping a plastic bag off the table for what he could not carry on his own.

“Master! I have acquired funds for us both!” Sauron announced with glee as he waltzed out of the counting room, all his supplies in tow. Melkor had stopped his shenanigans and seemed to be sulking, sitting on a display rack with his usual dark, brooding look.

‘ _Glad to see you’re back to normal. Have you got the curtains? Let’s go, before someone catches us.’_ He tugged at Melkor with his mind to hurry up, earning a low grunt in reply. Melkor’s previous energy was completely gone and his suit was free of that mysterious white powder that had exploded everywhere in the van. With several bedsheets still tied around his neck, he followed Sauron’s quick lead out of the shop. Through the broken window they went, and stole away into the night like the creatures of darkness they were.

 

Melkor collapsed into restless sleep the moment he entered the apartment and caught sight of the couch. Sauron wandered to him in slight concern but was waved away by a decisive mental state that said ‘ _stay away_ ’. It was best to spend the rest of the night fixing things, he thought. Stuff went into the fridge, a bit of blood was mopped from the inside, the bedsheets were layered in the form of curtains over the wide window in the apartment and Sauron was glad Melkor had chosen dark shades of red. When the sun came up at dawn, there was a lovely glow cast into the room that reminded Sauron of a good old massacre. Pleasing to the eye and just the right tone to match the furniture. Perhaps settling in would be easier than he’d first thought.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oi m8 there's a map here so you know where things are; I don't have much confidence in my location-describing ability. Map will be updated depending on the new places that need to be addressed. kek also melkor/sauron/packing peanuts ayyy


	7. The Peanut Raiders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the weirdest chapter yet and you might want to bleach your eyes after you're done. Here is where the REAL plot setups begin! And also the Hataraku Maou-Sama stuff comes in! YAY!

The morning became noon and still Melkor slept. Sauron did not feel much like joining him, rather opting to wake him and receive praise for his hard work. Excellent planning deserved a reward, right? If it meant waking the Dark Lord, definitely not. Sauron’s fingers were inches from Melkor’s face when he remembered what had happened the last time he’d woken up his Master. Melkor had flown into a rage (more common back then than now, it seemed) and destroyed their palace with wrathful flames. Had Sauron not been immune to fire, he would’ve been a pile of ashes by the time Melkor was through with him. Those were in their early days, when Sauron was a clever little Maia blinded by adoration for the burgeoning Dark Lord. He learned quickly after only a few years of abuse in all its various forms that it was never a wise idea to displease Melkor. Still, centuries of serving him had given Sauron an insight into how Melkor’s brain worked, what he could get away with and just how much control he could exert. And his influence was a good thing, often preventing tactical disasters from escaping Melkor’s anger-fueled mind. Sauron had patience; he could take things slow. And so he moved back, allowing his Lord to sleep a little more. Melkor looked so peaceful… Sauron thought it beautiful in his own special way and would not disturb him today.

 

He dressed in the black shirt and pants he’d taken from the dead mover man, finding them a nice fit around his chest and thighs. A look in the bathroom mirror told him his hair was a dull orange-blond and his eyes were fading to hazel. His bright flaming gaze was an important thing to display, and so Sauron went to grab a bite to eat in order to replenish his magical power. A flicker of heat from his palms and one severed arm later, he was ready to properly start the day.  
Down the elevator he went, admiring his own eyes with their catlike pupils and fiery glow. When he exited the building, he saw the van from last night still parked at the roadside, packing peanuts strewn about and rolling in the wind. There was a commotion from the shops Sauron could hear with his sharp ears, and knew there was probably an investigation going on in regards to the break-in last night. He sighed. Nobody was supposed to find out about that! It was inevitable however, what with Melkor’s window-smashing excitement and eagerness to run around. 

_‘We didn’t leave any evidence… no scraps of clothing, no trinkets that can be used to identify us. I didn’t drop any of my rings like that one time I snuck into Celebrimbor’s room…’_ Sauron recalled a few past events as he set about shoving the packing peanuts into a box. His shopping bag was still in the truck, and soon was filled with whatever mess was left. Afterwards, Sauron spent his time carrying each box up to the apartment and opening them in the hallway, dumping anything he didn’t need out the window at the end. Some of the boxes were so heavy, he would’ve liked Melkor’s assistance with them. But this job was one he could do on his own. All the possessions of the couple who’d intended to move into the apartment now belonged to Melkor and Sauron. Sauron furnished the apartment with every single shiny thing he could find, also draping black-tasseled covers over the gaudy bedspread and the top of the couch. Melkor shifted in and out of sleep, not knowing a thing that was going on.

 

Outside and a little bit down the street, the shopping precinct was in chaos. Several police officers with a forensics team on hand had been called that morning by the owner of Bullseye Clothing. The earnings of her sales from the previous day were gone, the shop floor was a mess and there were barely any leads towards the culprit. Fingerprints were lifted from the counting room, two sets being unidentifiable based on the police station’s record. Word spread of an international criminal duo that would hit another store next, in the dead of night when no cameras could witness their evils. Surveillance in the area increased, and the hunt was on for the two unknown crooks. It would take a week to compare fingerprint results from the entire country and beyond, but nobody would ever find those of Melkor and Sauron. Melkor did not have any fingerprints; his hands were silmaril-burned and blackened on every digit. Sauron had forged for all his life, handling smooth metal and fine craft. Fingerprints would ridge his work and create undesirable surfaces. He’d worn down his skin to perfect smoothness long ago.

Sauron wondered what to do with the mover van. Facing the back and hearing distant chatter far behind him, he knew he had to get this thing somewhere safe. Many humans zoomed around in their wheeled transport-boxes, and if they were homes there was likely someone looking for this one. Many were parked in the building diagonally opposite to Gulduren Apartments, almost as if whoever owned the building was collecting them. Ah, then if it was collectable perhaps it was worth a lot of money? Sauron went around the side of the van and checked out the logo on the side. It was the same thing that was printed on the shirt Sauron wore, _Meriadoc’s Movers_. Then… the owner of the shirt also owned the van, and since he was dead and Sauron had his clothes, the van belonged to Sauron instead! Unfortunately, Sauron had no clue what to do with his newly-begotten property. So he left the van there, closed the doors and wandered down Mordor Lane. It was the same way he and Melkor had traveled last night, and to the left of the apartments was where all the noise was coming from. Sauron walked onto a scene he’d never imagined in all his life. Police tape screamed warnings at him from a perimeter around the broken shop window. People chattered in their loud, annoying voices about how terrifying it was that a pair of criminals was on the loose. Sauron gasped. Had they figured him and Melkor out already?! Backing into the alleyway whence he came, Sauron steeled his nerves before a panic attack set in. Oh yes, he was very prone to these things especially when the safety of his Master was concerned.

_‘I should have been more careful… I underestimated the peace-keepers of this realm. ‘Police’, they are called. Those banners on their wheeled boxes scream of self-importance and false pride.’_ Sauron soon associated the blue and white checkered tape to mean ‘hot damn, cops. Bad guys. Stay away.’ He could see the same pattern on the hats of some policemen, even in miniature scale on the pockets of their uniforms. It looked like a house sigil, even if the design was the most abhorrent thing Sauron had ever seen. 

‘ _They are a group like the Watchers of a city, or the Rangers of the North. Do they have some magical ability that alerts them to any supposed wrongdoings? If so… we must be far more tactical in our moves. If I kill a man in secret and they find out… my suspicions will be confirmed.’_ Then he shook his head, discarding the idea. ‘ _No. If they find out, what then? Will they take the boxes from their belt-pouches and use lightning magic to capture us again? They will not be as stupid as the last Men who took us captive. No…. There will be no escape if we make any mistakes now. I must warn my Master.’_ Sauron backed away and turned to walk back to the apartments. But when he got to the corner of the sidewalk between Angmar Avenue and Mordor Lane, he saw something odd. A man in a yellow jacket with a white hat and dark sunglasses was inspecting the van, looking quite upset. Sauron ducked behind a bush just as the man turned, scanning the area. His attention went to the parking lot then, and behind his sunglasses his cold blue eyes narrowed. Sauron dared to follow his gaze, and furrowed his shapely brows. The slighest glint was visible from the window of a car, when the sun was high in the sky and the cars in the multilevel parking lot were shielded by a concrete ceiling. It made no sense for light to be there… and the closer Sauron looked, he could make out a myriad of colours from the tinted window which was half-rolled down.

‘ _What is this…?’_ he thought to himself, rising from the bush to get a better look. There it was again! Glint, flash, a distant click…. The colours again. Only this time it was from refracted light in Sauron’s eyes, bothering his sight for a moment. The flash had been aimed at him… and he checked himself over to make sure there was no holy magic used against his evil form. The man with the white hat stared at him, pen frozen at the center of a little pink book. Sauron felt his head was muddled with too much to think and worry about, temporarily forgetting the human presence outside the apartments.

“Scuse me.” said the man, startling Sauron out of his thought zone. “You the owner of this vehicle here?”

Sauron hissed at him and made a nasty gesture with his hand.

“Get lost! That’s _my_ property, don’t you know?”

The man was taken aback, but did not show it. Rather, he ripped a pink sheet from his book and Sauron twitched in alarm. 

“You can’t park here for more than six hours. Five hundred dollar fine for you!” The man nodded with a smirk and just walked off, leaving Sauron with a parking ticket he didn’t know what to do with. And there was that goddamned flash again. Sauron whipped his head around just to see a figure duck into the car, having had their upper body hanging out the window for whatever purpose. A gust of wind blew a single rainbow feather from the parking lot across the sky. Sauron’s eyes followed it, and thought how strange it was that there were flashing birds in wheeled boxes with rainbow feathers in this world. 

He needed to lie down for a while.

Melkor wasn’t going to let him, seeing his servant walk in looking absolutely befuddled. The Dark Lord jumped up from the sofa and grabbed Sauron by the shoulders.

“Where hast thou been? I gave thee no permissions to leave this room!”

Sauron merely looked up at him, woeful as a dying man. Melkor awaited an answer and got none. Sauron collapsed in his arms moments later and Melkor suddenly became aware of his servant’s strained mental state. It dawned on him that perhaps Sauron had been awake all night, all morning, doing Eru knows what in his attempts to figure out this world. It made the most sense to Melkor, and he took Sauron to rest on the couch which sat upon a freshly-cleaned carpet. The cleaner’s odd scent had bothered Melkor during his half-sleep that morning, and when he woke to the sight of shiny things on the coffee table and the distinct lack of disorganization, he knew Sauron had been working. Melkor placed the black-tasseled sofa cover atop Sauron’s unconscious form, thinking it a blanket of some sort. It was part of a set that the couple wished to furnish their apartment with. Tablecloths, a bedspread, cushions and a couch cover all with stringy black silk tassels at the end of finely embroidered fabric pieces. High-class stuff. Even Melkor could see it.

Silently he stroked Sauron’s hair with one hand, observing the curve of his servant’s lips the longer his touch remained. 

_‘What can I do while he concerns me thus? I shall stay here until he wakes. There is nothing else that needs my attention.’_ He sat on the couch then, lifting Sauron’s head to rest it in his own lap. There they stayed, and the day wore on.

 

Police swarmed the now abandoned van. Pink slip under the wipers and back doors left unlocked, the van was being searched for prints and DNA. A news crew stood outside, cameras rolling and everything broadcast live.

“We interrupt your programs to bring you breaking news - a van filled with packing peanuts containing trace amounts of cocaine has been discovered outside Gulduren Apartments, a popular place for the nearby housing agencies to rent and tour.” A woman in shades of purple with long coffee-brown hair and a judgemental face frowned at the camera as she gestured to the van. “I’m Lynn Deah, and I’ll be covering this story for GBS News. This incident is believed to be linked to the break-in at the nearby shopping precinct last night, and fingerprint analyses confirm the link between the two crimes. Over two hundred and fifty thousand dollars worth of drugs is estimated to be held inside these styrofoam pellets, with more having been dumped near the apartment building. Police are now knocking on doors, looking for the criminals believed to be hiding inside. We’ll keep you covered right after the break.” 

Melkor’s quiet feeling of dread peaked at the sound of a knock on his door.

“Sauron, wake up. There are more intruders here…” he murmured to his servant who still showed no signs of waking. A heavy sigh rushed past his lips and with reluctance, Melkor stood to answer the door. 

“Who art thou, daring to bother one as mighty as I in my private hours?”  
Silence, then a gruff voice.

“Open up, Shakespeare. Police. You have until the count of five..”

The Dark Lord narrowed his blood-red eyes at being ordered by what was probably a human.

“Filthy mortal! Get thee gone from my door, lest I unleash the wrath of my kingdom upon ye!” Granted, Melkor did not have the entire host of Angmar at his service at this particular time, but it was an honorable threat he’d grown used to yelling at whoever pissed him off in the First Age. There was a distinct snickering behind the door which only served to enrage Melkor further.

“Lay down your weapons. We don’t want to hurt you. Just… ask some questions. Save the rehearsals for acting class, mate.” An exasperated voice tried, earning an eye-roll from the Dark Lord.

“Don’t want to hurt me? Pah, ye can barely enter my living quarters without permission. I daresay a ‘fuck off’ is in order here. None may lay a hand on my person with harmful intent.” 

It was then that the police decided to bust down the door, having heard enough of Melkor’s high-and-mighty banter. Nobody had locked it; Sauron hadn’t searched any pockets for the room card (though he intended on doing so when he had the time…) and the dead woman’s purse was left mostly untouched. The apartment door was as unlocked as it had been throughout the inspection, and now flung open just barely missing Melkor’s body. Alarmed and quite angry he jumped back and shoved his hands forth, intending to let loose the fires of his creation to burn these intruders to ash. 

The police stared at him.

Nothing happened.

_‘Confound this weakened body! Why must I consume so much to maintain my natural-born power….’_ Now somewhat embarrassed, Melkor folded his arms and gave a frustrated glare to the now giggling cops. One walked over and laid a condescending hand on his shoulder.

“Now now, it’s alright. Not everyone can use the Force.”

“Hmph. What dost thou want?” Melkor stepped away and struggled to keep from flipping the coffee table into those smirking faces.

“Just to ask a few questions and have a look around, if that’s okay.” There were four policemen in total, one to ask the questions, one to keep everyone safe and two to search the apartment. The one speaking to Melkor had sandy blonde hair and a neat beard with two plaits hanging from his moustache. Melkor stared at his nose to avoid those keen blue eyes.

“Hey, lookie here. Ignore my bigass nose and let me see you as an honest guy. We’re looking for the people who smuggled a ton of cocaine via packing peanuts through a mover van between last night and today. Was it you?”

Melkor was taken aback by the intensity of the question, and shook his head.

“I know not of this cocaine thou speaketh of.” He spoke warily and the psychology-trained policeman picked up on it right away.

“You’re suspicious of me, aren’t you?” This earned a gasp from the Dark Lord, who was legitimately surprised at the man’s perceptive ability. But he wasn’t going to ask about whatever mind tactics were involved here… the quicker he could get these people out of his apartment, the better. The policeman had other ideas.

“I’m Phil Durinne, leader of this task force. You don’t have to worry, my boys won’t turn up your nice furniture in their search for contraband.” Phil flashed an absolutely stunning smile that had no effect whatsoever on Melkor.

“Cease thy foolish grinning, ‘Filderine’. I want no part in whatever this search is for. I command ye to leave.” He addressed all the policemen with a louder tone in his last statement, causing them to look up. One was just about to open the fridge when his eyes locked onto Sauron.

“Hey, isn’t that guy wearing the shirt with the same logo on the van?”

Sauron was somewhat coherent and raised his head, eyes burning with inner fire and glowing through his eyelids. The two searcher-cops moved towards him, and Melkor acted in an instant. 

“Sauron, finally thou awaken!” He crouched beside the couch and streamed rapid thoughts into his servant’s mind. ‘ _These people are dangerous. They ask questions and are looking for something. We must get rid of them. They have the lightning boxes. Look.’_

The Maia turned to look at the policemen, but his eyes were drawn back to his Master hovering over him. Those crimson eyes, brimming with concern. Those large, warm hands by his chest… Ah, was this what heaven felt like?  
Wait, shit. The cops. Dangerous. Questions. Looking for something.

_‘Master… we must not let them open the fridge, for they will see we have murdered other humans and will capture us for wrongdoing. They can sense it, it is the magical ability of their group. See the checkered pattern on their clothes? This designates them as our foes in this world… I will tell you more when we have time…. They are getting closer…’_ Sauron’s thoughts went a mile a minute and Melkor quickly understood what was going on. He could get on his servant’s level at any time, provided the stakes were high enough and things made enough immediate sense. Adrenaline sped his thoughts and actions to fruition, the quickest plan in his mind to be directing his attention away from the cops. If they saw he was busy with Sauron, they would not ask any more questions. If they didn’t get what they wanted in the form of answers or cocaine, they would leave! Absolutely foolproof.

Melkor dipped his head to give Sauron a gentle, slow kiss. 

“I have worried all day… thou must exercise caution in these terrible times!” He held his servant in his arms, kneeling like a grieving mother by the bedside of her sick child. “Do not leave me again…”

The police paused in their steady creep up to the couch, hovering by the kitchen counter and looking to Phil for guidance. Phil twirled one of his moustache braids in a moment of fidgety nervousness, while the other cop standing by the door looked away.

“Uh, I still have some things to ask you… along with permission to search your person-” Phil covered his mouth then as he witnessed the Dark Lord’s next move. Melkor’s hand slid down Sauron’s body, their faces close and whisperings in Black Speech filling the air. It was the most natural and romantic way for them to speak, and Sauron easily parted with words of worship for his Lord. Melkor’s concern was not feigned in this moment; he truly worried for Sauron after having him collapse and seem dead for a few hours. His upper body kept most of Sauron from view - the police could not verify the logo on Sauron’s shirt any further than memories of a glance. Truly shameless and losing himself within seconds, Melkor pressed his hand to Sauron’s crotch and tugged at the fabric of his pants. Sauron gave a light gasp and arched his back, nudging himself into Melkor’s hand. Most humans would have the decency to look away from such a display, or at least be disgusted by the open expression of raw sexuality enough to run far. Melkor knew the hearts of Men, how easily offended they were by things known as sinful and taboo. Well, Melkor considered himself the God of Sex and damn the world if he couldn’t use it to his advantage! And Sauron was so beautiful laying there on the couch, his eyes clouded by the happiness of finally receiving his Master’s love and body so willing…

“Oi, cut it out.” said Phil, trying to steel his nerves and get back his confidence. “We’re going to search your apartment!” He had the warrant to do so but considered the possibility of hidden drugs in the couch. Was that why someone lay there upon his entry? Why there was now something going on that would prevent a search! Of course! There was probably an entire stash of cocaine-filled packing peanuts under that couch!

“Move! That’s an order of the law!” Phil moved towards the two Ainur, slowing his step as he saw what Melkor’s hand was doing. _‘Oh god. I don’t get paid enough to deal with this shit.’_

 

“M...Master…” Sauron moaned against Melkor’s wet lips, inhaling all the affection he could get, even if it was simulated for their distracting cause.

“Mm?” came Melkor’s reply, his fingers working their way under the waistband of Sauron’s pants to fondle what he felt there. “Oh, thou art so very warm…” He smiled at the heat responding to his touch, giving Sauron a light squeeze to his hardness. Sauron cried out then, his voice muffled by another long kiss. It all sounded rather obscene, Melkor openly smooching the life out of his servant while getting ready for one cheeky handjob. The policemen noped the fuck out of there quicker than a maiden upon sight of a giant spider. Phil shook his head and closed the door on his way out. This would be an interesting story to tell during break.

The door clicked, and a distinct mashing of the elevator buttons could be heard. Melkor raised his head and was about to inform Sauron that the intruders were gone, but found himself jerked back to continue what he’d been doing before. Sauron writhed and sighed beneath his Master’s hand, half sliding off the couch in an effort to be closer to Melkor. 

‘ _Oh well. Might as well finish what I started.’_ Melkor shoved Sauron back onto the couch and climbed atop him, much to his servant’s delight.

~

The sun dipped into the West as the evening brought light streaming through the curtain-covered window. Melkor lay on the couch with Sauron resting on his chest, nude and bathed in a glorious red glow. After a few hours, they both needed a break and Melkor was a little hungry after expending so much energy.

“Sauron..” he murmured, causing his servant to look up. “Were there things thou needed to speak of regarding the intruders earlier?”

Sauron remembered his thoughts on the police and their supernatural ability to be alerted to wrongdoings. He told Melkor they would have to be more careful in order to circumvent the supposed magical intelligence of the cops, taking no lives and breaking no windows to stay under the radar. As long as those body-shocking lightning boxes existed as the main weapons of righteousness, Melkor and Sauron could not do anything lest they be captured forever.

“We cannot go and steal things like food or clothes… we must buy them with money like the rest of the humans do. We need to assimilate into their society as best we can in order to survive.. Until I find a way for us to get back to Middle-Earth.” Sauron nuzzled Melkor’s cheek with his nose, wanting to know what his Master thought of the plan. Melkor huffed a gentle breath and Sauron felt it blow strands of his hair aside.

“If we must buy things.. Then we need money.” Melkor trailed his fingers along Sauron’s spine, looking aside to the coffee table near his head.

“We only have eight hundred dollars… it will run out soon. We need to earn money… We need to get jobs.” 

Melkor sat up and gasped with the sudden flash of an idea.

“Thou couldst join a blacksmith guild and forge weapons for the common folk! Nothing of excellent quality; we don’t want them turning against us.”

“There are no places where one might practice their craft anywhere nearby, Master.” Sauron deadpanned with a ‘you-tried’ look on his face. “There are only shops selling things of inferior quality that others have made.”

Melkor looked crestfallen and stared into his lap. “Oh…”

Sauron shuffled forth and stuck his face beneath Melkor’s gaze. 

“Do cheer up, my Lord. I will find the solution to our financial problems and we will be on the way to survival once more. All we need is to acquire money and food, to restore our magical power.”

“And then we return to Middle-Earth and I will make it mine!” Melkor nodded to himself with an evil smile, and Sauron wondered when the mood swings would stop. Well, if he was happy now then it wasn’t too much of a problem for Sauron to deal with.

“Yes. We return. Hopefully there will be some still loyal to your rightful cause…” Sauron could see Melkor’s thoughts turning to dark, horrible things… what he would do to those who opposed him, how many elven villages he would burn down (all of them!) and the revenge he would exact upon Manwë for ruining his life. Ah, now his mind was going back to how Sauron remembered it. It made the Maia smile and join his Master in those evil thoughts. They shared images and words with each other through mental connection alone, as those of the Ainur commonly did. Carefully they plotted as the sun disappeared and night fell on the modern world.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> top kek when you see an OC in this fic it's gonna be a rehash of some Tolkienesque character because AYY people are more receptive to existing characters than an author's own creation. I'll only have one of my own OC's in here for later plot, promise! Also... Lynn Deah / Lindir (as a lady!) and Phil Durinne / Fíli. Beheheheh


	8. Of fry-guilds and identity shifts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> two chapters in one day WOW I'm on a roll. This one is.. more setup. The real stuff starts next chapter! Honest!

The rest of the week was spent with Sauron searching all the ways to acquire money. He left Melkor at home, requesting his Lord to stay in safety and not let the unworthy humans gaze upon him. In reality, Sauron knew his learning efforts would be hindered by Melkor’s presence. The concentration needed to inhale knowledge and understand it was a thing Sauron had to cultivate on his own. And so he went walking. Asking about jobs, being directed to the career help section of a local bookstore, and reading over everything he could in one day. During the week he discovered a library on his travels, a giant stately building near the park at the corner of Main Street. There he learnt of bank accounts and taxes, the ridiculous complexity of earning money in a legal manner, and the ways people used electricity to power their technological creations. 

He came home with a massive headache each day, and Melkor offered him a much-deserved massage on Sunday night. It was then that Sauron transferred the basics of his knowledge to his Master - words relating to modern jobs and technologies, such as ‘paychecks’ and ‘time sheets’. He didn’t explain any of the fancy legal stuff, as Melkor was busy trying to wrap his head around the concept of a computer without having one in front of him.

“Might I suggest a simple job that requires no prior qualifications for you this week, Master?” Sauron leaned back into Melkor’s embrace, sitting in his lap with those arms wrapped around him. Melkor processed Sauron’s words for a moment and asked him what he had in mind.

“Perhaps the job everyone told me to work at when I asked around. McDonalds, a place where food is served, something like an inn without liquor.”

Melkor frowned at that.

“Serving? Me, the Dark Lord of Arda serving _humans_? Why, the mere thought is preposterous. I shall do no such thing!” He folded his arms over Sauron’s chest, squeezing his servant until he felt him struggle.

“It… is just… ahH! We are merely playing the game of these humans in order to survive! It will not be forever, Master! All you must do is pretend to respect them no matter what, earning enough money to buy food that will keep us alive.”

“And what activities shalt thou partake in?” Melkor interjected before Sauron could draw breath, turning his body left and right to snuggle Sauron closer.

“Meeeerghhh, you know… looking for ways to transcend time and space so we might find our way back to Middle-Earth and do all the things you spoke of yesterday. Remember? The merciless slaughter and torture of the Free Folk?’

“Ah, yes.. Dost thou think a way to travel there even exists?”

Sauron shrugged. “If there is, I shall find it for you. But in the meantime you must work at a place that will hand over money for your good service.”

At this, Melkor snorted. 

“Good service! Why, that is nothing like me at all! I am the corruptor of the world, one to be worshipped! They should serve _me!_ Goodness should not even be a consideration of mine!” Sauron could see a rant coming on and aimed to stop Melkor before he could monologue about his own might and neverending evil greatness.

“You are entirely right, my Lord. But do you wish to be stripped of your power as we starve in these weak human bodies in a week’s time? The bodies in the cool-box will not last long. You must work, and play the serving game. That’s all it is! A farce, a play on reality. You are not actually serving or becoming subordinate to anyone… it’s just pretend. The stupid humans will give you valuable currency for it!” He finished with a sincere look up at Melkor, craning his neck backwards and peering through his fiery slit eyes. Melkor understood Sauron’s proposal, and now that he could think of it all as a game, it would be easier to endure living as one of the Men.

“Alright. I shall play the game. For how long, I am not certain.”

~

“The first thing you must do is choose a name, one that will help you assimilate with the Men.” Sauron now faced Melkor, sitting in his lap with both legs wrapped around Melkor’s lower body. “I have read up on their naming conventions, and you may be able to pass as a foreigner with a name similar to your own.”

“Ah, yes. They take surnames and no titles, correct?” Melkor’s attentive gaze was fixed upon Sauron, their eyes locked and burning with the high-speed transfer of knowledge. Sauron nodded, pleased at the smooth and accepting process they were going through. 

“If you like, I can offer a few suggestions… Here, what about this?” Sauron clicked his fingers and the tip of one began to glow. Beside him he wrote a few names in flaming, floating Tengwar. Melkor narrowed his eyes at the Fëanorian script but could read it nonetheless, pointing to the first name he saw. It glowed bright red as his power highlighted it.

“Mel Korosz… What are the connotations of _this_ name?”

Sauron took a deep breath and began to explain.

“It suggests you hail from a far land where the folk speak a different tongue and stick their consonants close together. As in, you can say something Black Speech and pretend to be a foreigner with little understanding of this country. That will be good for you since you cannot read most of the scripts used in this place.” Melkor gave Sauron a look that suggested he was displeased at having his servant belittle his intelligence. Sauron smiled apologetically and continued.

“The first name may be considered feminine, but you may wish to use it as a shortened form of another masculine name. If anyone asks, you could say your first name is Melvin.”

Melkor went cross-eyed and shook his head. “That kind of name belongs to a little man in glasses who can barely wield a sword.” The image of himself as such a person was broadcast to Sauron’s mind, causing the Maia to chuckle with a roll of his eyes. 

“Whatever other first name pleases you, you can use. I’m only offering suggestions…” 

“Hmph, this name seems good enough. What next?” Melkor dismissed the name list with a hand wave, little sparks falling from the vanished words. What Sauron wished to inform his Master of next took a bit of tact, and Melkor could see his servant preparing himself mentally.

“You will need to alter your patterns of speech to fit those of this age. There is no distinction between informal and formal speech any more, thus the usage of ‘thee, thou, thine and thy’ is unnecessary.”

“What?!” Melkor’s eyes widened and nearly popped out of his head, kept in place by the deep furrowing of his brows. “So as part of this assimilation game I must refer to everyone as ‘You’… as if they were my equal?” Sauron nodded, and Melkor groaned. “Argh! It will take forever to get used to such a thing…”

“I managed it after only two months of living with the Elves, you know. Surely one of your great power and wit will be able to handle the simple shift of words?” Using compliments to persuade was Sauron’s top strategy in manipulating Melkor’s thoughts. It could break through the Dark Lord’s most stubborn moments and sometimes even excite him about whatever he needed to do. Pride and the will to live up to his expectations could move Melkor far. Now he preened before Sauron, looking rather smug and confident.

“Why, I think I would manage it in half the time! If thou offer to me this challenge I will surely be able to complete it.”

“That’s right! All you have to do is talk like this. In the same way that the humans around you do.” Just then, Sauron remembered something. “You are not human though… we must do something about these.” He reached out and tugged the tips of Melkor’s pointed ears, causing the Dark Lord to groan softly.

“Don’t tell me I must cut my ears off… You know I cannot assume a fair form, let alone transform into anything with this body.” Melkor worried about how he would be able to assimilate with the humans now, what with his terrifying red eyes and the massive triple slash marks across his face. Sauron stroked the tips of Melkor’s ears very gently to soothe him.

“No no, there shall be none of that. You will just have to wear your hair a certain way… Maybe cut it to shoulder length?”

“Mm.” As a Vala, Melkor’s hair had been sentient in the way it could trap foes and sweep armies off their feet. If he cut it, he could easily grow it back to its regular floor length. Hopefully it would not hurt too badly.

“I will work some glamour charms on you to hide those scars… But you still look beautiful otherwise.” Sauron leaned forth and gave Melkor a light kiss on the lips, feeling his Master smile as their contact lingered. It was common knowledge in Middle-Earth that anyone who had pointed ears was sensitive there. Sauron used his skillful touch to disarm Melkor’s apprehension and any doubts he may have had about the job-seeking process. Names, mannerisms, false respect and gameplaying. It was a lot to take in, even for the Dark Lord. He’d never immersed himself so deeply into a farce such as this before. Oh yes, he’d tricked the elves, the Valar, his own brother and an entire ring of righteous counsel but trying to fake a whole new identity… this was on a new level. And there were things that would dissuade his purpose if he thought about them in too much detail. Sauron’s fingers distracted him, and gave rise to many warm, pleasurable feelings.

Melkor never doubted when Sauron told him he was beautiful. Self-esteem regarding appearance had never been important to Melkor, for he’d hated things of beauty since the day of his own creation. But he knew the Maia was obsessed with those things, and saw him as desirable to serve and gaze upon. Such a compliment inflated his ego, and the world knew that didn’t need any more work at all. But Sauron complimented the Dark Lord for a reason. Without those words of worship and love, Melkor would fall into his old spiral of self-loathing, born of millenia of having everyone tell him what a jackass he was. Fëanor slamming his door in Melkor’s face and telling him to fuck right off. Manwë contesting his brother’s sanity and renouncing all hope for curing Melkor’s dark heart. Elves screaming frightened abuse at _Morgoth the Terrible Constrainer_. All these things, Melkor’s tender Valarin heart took in and immediately twisted into horrible manifestations of the real world. Somewhere inside, the Ainu within Melkor knew what he was doing was wrong. How could he not, after all the things people had told him? Indeed, he knew the difference between right and wrong. He did not see his own actions as conventionally ‘right’ - that involved the various good deeds the other Valar did to make the world a better place. But every one of Melkor’s actions was not done for any moral scale. It was out of the pure hatred he felt towards all existence, the pretty flowers and the fair-faced elves. All of it. He just wanted to watch the world burn.

“Master… tomorrow, will you seek this job for me?” Sauron’s words dripped like poisoned honey into Melkor’s ear, where his lips brushed the pointed tip.

“Yes…” Melkor shuddered, leaning into his servant’s touch. It was then that their combined will became set on a common goal. Work, earn money, survive. No questions. It all made sense.

Tomorrow, the job search would begin.

 


	9. A Legal Identity for the Dark Lord

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things happen and the plot is ready to advance!

Monday morning saw Melkor and Sauron awake, having slept on the couch once again. The bedroom in their apartment was used as a clothing storage and the loot from their first break-in was neatly piled in a corner. Neither of them found the bed as comfy as the slightly stained but incredibly plush couch. Melkor likened it to sleeping with his face between Sauron’s thighs. Sauron was not amused.

After a breakfast of flame-roasted human rear and some milk to wash it down, Sauron briefed Melkor on his mission. Normally, things went the other way. But Melkor would not lead Sauron and his other generals into battle any time soon. Not when his only source of income was to be burger flipping in hot kitchens to serve the humans of this land.

“I have created this identity card for you in the likeness of the common folk.” said Sauron as he handed Melkor a piece of paper, one with a photorealistic drawing of Melkor’s face looking handsome and modern without scars and most of his hair. It also had his name printed in a legitimate looking render of Times New Roman, the font Sauron saw in the book he’d read on ‘ _Forms of Legal Identity for the Apprentice Jobseeker_ ’. There were numbers there for a fake date of birth and Sauron had placed a little magical sigil to serve as some form of authentication. All in all, it was a card-sized piece of printer paper made to look like an official ID. Surely it would work!

Melkor took it and could not read a word there, but assumed its details and placed it into the pocket of his suit. Sauron had tailored his Master’s clothes over the week into something better fitting, and now Melkor looked just as snappy as any black-suited businessman in tall black boots.

“Now remember, you must pretend to respect the humans and keep your anger controlled at all times, or the game is over.” Sauron sat himself behind Melkor on the coffee table, the sharpest knife from the kitchen in his left hand. He beganto chop off bits of his Master’s hair, which felt like absolute agony to Melkor but he could handle it nonetheless. “Answer the interviewer’s questions with only what is necessary, and what you think is right to deceive them with in order to get the job. You’re fantastic at the art of manipulation… I know you can do it.”

Melkor preened at that, a light glow taking to his colorless skin along with a smile.

“Of course. And the manner of speech of this age, too. I shall succeed and defeat these humans at their game of work!”

“Yes, yes..” Sauron laughed softly and set the knife down, watching the long locks of Melkor’s hair disappear from where they fell. “Alright. You may even out your hair now.” With a little effort, Melkor grew his hair to a perfect, straight cut that fell about his cheeks in straight sections. Ah yes, the Dark Lord with his menacing red eyes and sweet little bowl-cut hairdo. Who could possibly deny hima job now?

Sauron flipped through the fashion catalogue he’d picked up from a stall during the week. If they were to blend in, they couldn’t just go buying whatever clothes happened to be nearby. No, they had to see what was trendy, look professional and fabulous at once, and somehow live without comfortable tunics and robes. Melkor turned around and Sauron leaned to give him a precise kiss on the lips. A flash of warmth passed between them, and Sauron drew back to see his glamour charm having worked well enough to hide Melkor’s three facial scars.

“You look absolutely perfect.” he said, resisting the urge to pinch Melkor’s blushing cheeks. These emotions he felt weren’t normal, he told himself. But normal was boring, and their new game was everything except that. Sauron rose to his feet, Melkor with him and ready to go. In high spirits, the two Ainur set off.

~

 Far down Rhovanion Street near the park at the corner sat one giant red building. Well, it was short in comparison to the skyscrapers everywhere but looked quite garish amongst all the grey. Melkor briefly wondered if it was a slaughterhouse, but upon closer inspection of the building it was only red paint that coated the walls. Somewhat dismayed, he turned to Sauron.

“This is the place?”

Sauron nodded. “They are hiring today, as the sign in the window says. Go in there and ask the questions I told you, okay?” 

Melkor looked uncertainly through the windows, seeing a few people inside eating a late breakfast. Most of them looked rather tired, but there were a few teenagers with a suspicious air about them hiding in a corner too. So many different attitudes, and Melkor gave no shits to any of them. Following Sauron’s advice, he walked up to the sliding glass doors and put his hand out to push them open. He stifled a shriek when the doors slid open of their own accord, disappearing into little slits in the walls.

_‘Don’t go and look for where the doors went. Walk in! Go!’_

Sauron’s voice and will shoved Melkor to a stumbling pace, and he went right up to the counter with eyes darting around. Everything was so… colourful, yet looked plasticky and fake wherever he glanced. The Dark Lord was used to everything natural, be it iron wrought chairs or silk-covered cushions. He’d never seen a menu board in his life. Melkor stared, the images of various foodstuffs floating with an ethereal backlit glow from hidden fluorescent lights.

“Hello, may I take your order?” A voice spoke from a few inches to Melkor’s left, and slowly his attention turned there. A brunette wearing a short-sleeved black shirt and matching cap smiled at him, looking rather artificial in her supposed servitude. Trained to be nice, put on register because she looked the part. All she wanted was enough cash to be able to move away from home. And Melkor was one of the most intimidating, ridiculous-looking men she’d seen in a while. Why oh why did all the weirdos have to come in today?

“I’m… looking for a job.” Melkor carefully contracted his words and spoke in a deep, succinct tone. “I heard that there were some positions available here.”

The girl looked at him for a moment then called for the manager, sending word through the kitchens and to the back of the place. Heads poked out from places to take a look at the new arrival, and Melkor stared them all down with his usual curious gaze. The one that caused irregular bowel movements in the strongest of men. He was directed moments later to sit somewhere, and ten minutes passed before the manager appeared. She was tall and wore no suit or anything professional at all. Just a simple black blouse and loose pants to match, with her long dark hair done up in a ponytail. She surveyed Melkor from behind rectangular silver glasses and invited him to the back. The Dark Lord was struck with nerves in that moment, seeing the confidence in her walk and complete lack of fear in the presence of one so great. He looked back to Sauron, who gave him a thumbs up from the window. Sauron stayed hidden in a bush after that, praying all would go well.

 

“Alright, have a seat.” The woman closed the door behind Melkor and watched him sit in the tall leather-backed chair behind her desk. She decided to not say anything about it for now, and took in his appearance. “You’re dressed ready for business, I see. Why do you want to work here?” Remaining standing, she folded her hands behind her back and waited to see some sign of a CV or anything like the usual fare of applicants had. Melkor held eye contact with her and said, “I want to earn money.”

“Don’t we all…” she muttered, wandering closer to her desk. “Where’s your resumé? Past experience, education, ID? I do hope you’ve come prepared.”

Melkor took out his ID then and handed it to her. She held the piece of paper and examined it for a few seconds. And then she looked at the Dark Lord in mild amusement.

“What is this? Did you print this out at home or something? This isn’t a proper ID.”

Melkor scowled naturally and had an ‘oh shit’ moment right there. Sauron’s work wasn’t enough to trick this woman? And what was a resumé? He’d heard something about that before but really, he hadn’t been paying much attention…

“Come on. I’m good at everything I do, and I will surely be an asset to your company.” There was the rehearsed line of Sauron’s creation, and the manager was having none of it.

“Maybe you’d be better suited to office work, I mean what with that suit and ‘company-asset’ talk. What skills can you bring to us here anyway?”

Thinking for a moment, Melkor leaned back in the chair. His hair bounced about and slid past his sharp cheekbones. “Mm, I have both speed and efficiency in my work, along with thousands of years of leadership over many folk.”

“And I suppose you’ve got a nice army in Dungeons and Dragons too, hm?” The woman laughed then, open and almost mocking. Melkor heard dragons and his eyes lit up, about to ask whether or not there were delivery services in which he could ride one. 

“Look. I’d ask you about hobbies and how you’d deal with customers, but I’m pretty sure you’re joking about getting work here. Come back when you have a resumé and proper ID, alright?” She placed her hand upon the desk and looked into Melkor’s hopeful, shining eyes. “Now get out of my seat.”

Melkor’s face changed to look aghast in seconds. “You what?” he spat, disbelieving. “But I want to work here! What about those people in the kitchens? Surely _they_ didn’t come here entirely prepared?”  
“They did.” came the terse reply. “I know all the ins and outs of working here at McDonalds and let me tell you, there’s no place for old men with schoolgirl hairstyles and an ego greater than the Sea of Rhûn.” She’d barely finished speaking before Melkor’s eyes flashed gold and he entered her mind, forcibly obtaining what she knew of her job and coworkers. Salting fries, keeping hands off the grill, handling angry customers and cleaning the lobby with minimal pain. There were complex things about paychecks and leave, little of which Melkor understood. And so he forced his will into her, voice a black malice that threatened her conscious mind.

‘ _You will pay me on schedule in an envelope, understand? The green paper… money. I will work for it.’_

The manager acquiesced almost instantly. Melkor was at full magical strength so soon after breakfast, and there was not a single human who could resist his will for long.

“Yes…” she muttered, “I’ll give you paychecks in cash, if that’s what you want…”

Melkor released his hold on her and smiled. “Excellent! Fortnightly, I shall expect pay for my services to you.”

“Yeah… now, uh you’ll need training…” The woman stood and handed back Melkor’s ID, flashing her own at him. “You can call me boss, because now you’re hired!”

Melkor smirked.

_‘Just as planned…’_

~

The day went on, and Melkor needed minimal training to know what he had to do. The information he’d gathered from his boss’s mind offered much on how daily life as a McDonalds employee went on. He was set to salt fries for his first day, and assist those working the grills during the midday rush. Sauron watched for hours from his little bush. Melkor, in his dress shirt and black pants with his suit left in the break room and a cute black and yellow cap on his head. Nobody was bothering him, or even talking to him much. One would assume this would lead to productivity… but he didn’t really get that much work done. Melkor took one look at the fryers and bent down until the heat nearly singed his eyebrows off. It felt absolutely glorious, so warm that the air swam before his eyes. Nobody told him off, instead advising him to not salt each individual chip and to keep his face at a safe distance. For eight hours he stayed on his feet, flipping meat patties with a spark of flame from one hand while compiling burgers with the other. Repetitive, simple work. He could handle it. And while the technologies he saw here were new, he didn’t question how they worked… just knowing that they _did_ was good enough for him. The less he worried, the easier the day went by.

~

“Auuuuughh, Sauron! Why must I stand for so terribly long? My feet are going to fall off….” Melkor whined at his servant the second they got home, sprawled on the couch with his legs spread. Sauron worked at taking his boots off then offered a massage, for there was not much else he could do. Having a foot chopped off in battle didn’t really leave many options for using it, healed or not. Melkor felt a little less awesome when he had to limp home, hair stuck to his face with the scent of oil. But Sauron made him clean enough to display on a dish rack, and offered his Lord all the comfort in the world.

“You did well today, Master…” he whispered, running his thumbs along the arches of Melkor’s feet. It was a good thing those of their race did not sweat or shed skin. Sauron would’ve been disgusted at that. Their apartment was now stocked with the bare minimum of Sauron’s favourite necessities - some organic herbal soaps he’d cringed at for their price, and more cleaning products just incase they needed to murder a visitor again. “I look forward to your receipt of your first paycheck.”

“I too…” groaned Melkor, pulling his face down with one hand. “Ghergh… How many funds do we currently possess?”

“Five hundred and forty-seven.” Sauron had looked through the wallets of every corpse in the apartment, and pilfered some jewels from the dead woman’s bag. They were _real_ diamonds, and Sauron figured if he could just get his head around the buying and selling thing in this age, he could make millions. Currently standing however, there was only a handful of bills available from what Sauron had found. “Enough to buy food for a month… We have enough meat and water to last us this week.”

Melkor sat up at the mention of meat, a mischievous look of epiphany brightening his face. “I can get us meat for free!”

“If you’re thinking about stealing it from your workplace, that’s out of the question.” The Maia shook his head and moved to massage Melkor’s bare legs. “Remember what I said about the police? No matter where we are or how discreet, they _will_ know, and they _will_ come for us. We do not want that.”

“Mm…” Melkor lay back down, covering his face with his hands again. “Damn it.”

“Do not worry… Once you get your first paycheck, we will be able to replenish our supplies.” The motions of Sauron’s hands became a gentle pat, offering comfort to his Lord who gave a twisty gesture with two fingers.

“Now do my back.” he ordered, flipping himself over within seconds. Sauron jumped to avoid being thrown off the couch and landed on Melkor’s butt, where he straddled his Master and helped remove his clothes. His warm, soft hands kneaded scarred flesh and found weary muscles to heal. All the way up and in circular movements, with a few appreciative kisses here and there. 

“Tomorrow, will you be alright to go to work again? I must get to researching more ways for us to get back to Middle-Earth.”

Melkor shifted as he heard Sauron speak, then thought his words over to his servant’s mind.

_‘Speaking of Middle-Earth… I do not think we ever truly left. Today the boss-woman made a reference to the far eastern seas, and I have heard talk of familiar locations.’_

Sauron pressed his hands in a little deeper, earning a deep groan in response.

‘ _Then the only logical explanation has been that we’ve traveled forth in time. Reversing things will be much easier than traveling to another world, that’s for sure.’_

This pleased Melkor, and he grinned into the couch. Much easier? It was about time life gave him a break. Sauron would take care of things. The Dark Lord trusted in him entirely.

‘ _Now… I can relax.’_

‘ _Just not while you’re at work.’_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you expected the world of jobs and money to be written in a realistic, adult manner you’ve got the wrong author here XD I’ve never worked at McDonalds nor do I know about work, so all this is gleaned from the internet and the anime this fic is inspired by. The fictional country of Arda has uh a different process for acquiring work than other places? Idk lol


	10. Just an ordinary day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feels like Filler. Kinda is! Just an ordinary day, so you get a feel for the flow of things happening on a daily basis. Time jumps coming soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Doot doot a fucking milestone

  


The next day, Melkor went back to work. He knew what he had to do, and did it without complaint. It was through sheer force of will that he was kept from collapsing due to the pain in his legs. Like ice and fire combined, it seared all the way from his ankles to the muscles at his thighs. Damn Fingolfin and his skill with a blade. Melkor felt like less of a warrior than he’d ever been, now that he could not stand comfortably for hours on end. He belonged upon an iron throne, lounging with rich silks and fine wine. At least, he dreamt of those things now. A tap to his shoulder brought him out of vivid thoughts and drew his attention to the person beside him.   


“You’re going to make the meat dry if you keep heating it like that.” It was a man just past his teenage years, by the name of Felix with long dark hair in a braid down his back. He was always chatting with someone for long enough that his work grew neglected and another person had to attend to it. Now he was bothering Melkor, offering advice to the self-proclaimed Master Chef of McDonalds.

“Excuse thyself, but I am perfectly capable of searing these meat-circles to perfection.” Melkor tossed his head aside, straight locks of hair falling in a neat swish to the sides of his face. He’d not seen anyone wearing hairnets, thus did not have one on himself. It wasn’t like his hair would be so weak as to fall out and taint the food he prepared. Food which sat on the grill, becoming dryer than a freeze-dried harlot. Felix pointed to the now crumbling patty and Melkor saw it was almost starting to burn. With a flick of his finger, the grill sparked a single flame and the patty jumped into Melkor’s gloved hand. He shoved it into his mouth, swallowing it whole before anyone could react to the sudden movement.

Melkor then looked pointedly at Felix as if to say _‘I do not know what you are talking about, or even insinuating in the slightest. There is nothing to see here.’_ Felix merely blinked and hoped he’d not overdosed on his antidepressants again. Seeing things like that just didn’t fit with his boring drone of a life. 

“Right, ah…” He was cut off by Melkor’s hand in a _stop_ motion before he could even form his words. 

“What do you want from me?” asked the Dark Lord, eager to remove this man from his presence. Felix sighed, his brow furrowed and eyes pleading for Melkor to listen.

“Can you come do register with me? Just for fifteen minutes or so.” Felix averted his eyes from Melkor’s intense red gaze, then added “I need your advice.”

“You should _say_ you require advice instead of placing a false pretence of work at the register before it. One does not simply work the register _and_ banter at the same time.” Melkor folded his arms and got a little sauce from his gloves on himself. Eh, he could lick it off later. Looking grim was far more important.

Felix made an attempt at puppy eyes, pleading with Melkor. “Come on, this might be my only chance. I’ve made sure everyone else is away so the next customer we get will surely come to me…”

_‘What is he planning?’_ Melkor rubbed his hands together with malicious glee, all attempts at intimidating Felix forgotten. “Oho, do you plan to trap a customer and eat them whole? With the entire lobby watching? What parts do I get, hm?”

A few odd looks from the others in the kitchen were thrown in Melkor’s general direction. Face to palm, Felix sighed.

“You know what, forget it. I’ll find someone less weird to-”

“No. I will come with you. Let us go.” Melkor grabbed Felix’s arm and pulled him out into the brightly-lit area with its freshly polished countertops and registers waiting for money. He didn’t know how to use the registers, what with their glowing touch-screens and lack of sensible buttons. But register work was not his job - and so Melkor only stood, pretending he owned the space around him with pride. The look on his face sent positive vibes all the way to the customer who walked through the sliding doors and turned their head to him. Felix cringed at his register just beside Melkor. He couldn’t hiss instructions to his unknowing wingman now. Amelia of the Supermarket Across the Road had arrived, and her mere presence left Felix speechless. Her golden hair tumbled in shining curls all the way to her fine waist, which was accented in a navy suit tailored to her body. In her eyes one could see she meant business, being on her first break for the day. And she came to McDonalds for a salad, like she always did. Felix had watched her do so for the past seven months, his blushing face behind the boiling fryers and nervous sweat trickling down his forehead.

Melkor looked at her expectantly, not knowing what the register-folk usually said to greet customers. Something like ‘What can I get you today’ or ‘Ayy lmao’, surely. The Dark Lord merely tilted his head to the side, a small curve to his lips in amusement. This woman reminded him of a fair elf-maiden he’d seen wandering around Aman. She even had cute little pointy ears… 

“Can I get a chicken caesar salad, please?” Amelia stood straight with her eyes locked to Melkor’s, voice clear and fingers searching for coins in her purse.

“I believe you can…” Melkor replied, caught by her gaze and tearing himself away not a moment too soon. “Felix, get her a salad.”

Felix gawked at the object of his admiration, who turned her beautiful head towards him. “W-would you like fries with that?” he stuttered, finger shaking before the screen of his register. Amelia narrowed her eyes and spat out a refusal.

“No.”

Felix’s face fell so far it might’ve touched the ground, had Melkor not been there to pull him from abject misery.

“Salad, come on. Do not keep the fair maiden waiting.”

Amelia blushed a little at that, gazing strangely at Melkor while being glad to look away from Felix. She couldn’t stand the young man who always came looking for her on the floor of the place she managed, thinking her some part-time register woman who would fall into his arms after a moment of attention. She was far out of his league, four years older and with more certificates in business than he knew existed. Still, she was not snobbish and found it easy to ignore Felix when there stood a curious fellow before her.

“Fair maiden? How many RPGs do you play to refer to a lady like that?”

“I know not of this ‘arpi-jie’ that you speak of. But you are more appealing than a _tavern wench,_ I shall say that much.” Melkor spoke with honesty and the quirkiness of his speech made Amelia laugh. 

“You’re a funny one, you know. Here, for the salad.” She handed him a ten-dollar bill, and Melkor shoved it into his pocket before Felix returned with a plastic container. The Dark Lord assumed he was being given money for his good, polite service and smiled at Amelia, much to Felix’s ire. Felix handed her the salad and attempted to touch her hand, but failed to get even a centimeter close. Light and dainty, Amelia held the container in her finely manicured nails and placed it into her open bag. With a last glance to Melkor, she returned his smile and left. Felix watched the swaying motion of her hips, entranced. And then the sliding doors shut.

“What the hell was that?!” he snapped, rounding on Melkor with anger in his voice. Taken aback, Melkor stood his ground and balled a fist just in case Felix attacked him. He would punch the man’s lights out in a second if things turned bad.  
“What was what? You asked me to accompany you by the register, and there happened to be a customer arriving! There was no time for me to give you this ‘advice’ you spoke of earlier.”

Felix groaned himself into a dejected pile of woe, slumping over the register.

“You were meant to stand there and look scary like you always do! Then she would come and talk to me, and look at me, and love me….”

Melkor raised an eyebrow. _‘Wat?’_

The register-working girls came from the kitchen and dragged Felix away. Their job was to look pretty and serve customers, while guys spent their time doing the cooking work. Felix always bothered them once a week for his chance to get a closer look at his beloved Amelia. And after work, he would go to the supermarket just in case he could catch a glimpse of her there. He saw her go in. He never saw her come out. 

Melkor went back into the kitchens, not appreciating the looks the girls gave him. Blame, for what he did not know, shone brightly in their eyes. He sneered at them and took his place at the grill. The next burger he flipped looked more appetizing than the last, and he was curious about the differences in taste. Not as dry… and with a thick succulence to its flavor while fresh. There were no customers coming in now… surely nobody would miss a meat patty or two.

  


While Melkor was busy stealing food, Sauron sat in the library poring over the entire occult section. Most of it sounded like bullshit to him - why, these humans had absolutely _no_ idea of how magic really worked. There was no talk of the metaphysical deeds one could accomplish with the power of their mind alone. Nothing on the Valar, Maiar, or even elves. That was in the ‘Fantasy’ section, and Sauron had no use for anything on the fictious side of the library. He wanted facts, truth, and methods of possible return to Arda. When he asked the nearest person to him about time-travel, he was directed to a line of books with ‘Doctor Who’ printed on the spines. For an hour, he was absorbed. And then he realized that this was more technology than magic - it did not refer to the past world Sauron and Melkor had known. Frustrated, he placed the book where it belonged and went back to what he’d been reading about vampires. “Twilight”, it was called, in the occult section with two hands holding an apple on the cover. It just lay mysteriously atop some other books, as if whoever saw it thought it belonged there but didn’t care enough to slot it in place. Sauron flicked to a page and read about transformative magics… then began to consider if he did what the people in the book did, how might Melkor react? This was the closest thing he’d read about turning into non-human creatures that made sense. Granted, there was a bit of romance in there and Sauron couldn’t stand more than a paragraph of the stuff. But he was beginning to remember his abilities… and how he could gather more information as inconspicuously as possible.

  


Nobody suspected the black cat wandering through the shelves, a book about witchcraft on his head and long fuzzy tail waving in the air. This section was dark and close to the wall, away from all the people studying various topics for midterm papers and college essays. There was a school nearby, and students often came here to study in peace or use the unrestricted internet. A student sat in solitude at the end of the occult section, stringy black hair over their pale face and clothes so dark it looked as if they were cloaked in mere shadow. Sauron took interest in them, and stalked over to the hunched figure. Suddenly the student turned and Sauron caught half a fright, staring at huge sunken eyes lined with thick black and lips the same colour. _Here is an evil being_ , Sauron decided. Someone who could help him with his plans. 

“Myee.” said Sauron, climbing into the person’s lap. He heard an unmistakable gasp of delight, and felt a thin hand lay itself upon his head. Sauron stiffened for a moment before feeling pleasure creep down his spine, following the gentle stroking of the hand. Ah yes, humans were fond of cats. Worshipping them, even. Sauron had read a little on ancient human history, as far as it went in this library anyway. There had to be something about Middle-Earth somewhere…. He just hadn’t found it yet. Looking up at the student, Sauron saw just how pasty and unwell they looked. Yet, they smiled. In one hand they held a book on Pagan rituals, in the other now they had a cat. For them, this was absolutely perfect.

Sauron turned to peep at the book. He read about blood sacrifices and the phases of the moon… so this was what humans had evolved their sorcery into? And it was hidden, something to be ashamed of… Sauron could feel how lonely it was to be in this section. But he had a human petting his soft black fur, and a book of interest in front of him. Whenever he pushed at the corner of the book with his paw, the page was turned for him. And he read many things that could be useful to the Dark Lord… provided he remembered them all.

  


  


  


  


  


  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I put in some fanservice for Galadriel+'+s+less+pretty+daughter due to many comments and nice feels in general. Here’s your Finrod/Amelie even though OOC as hell and with modern names. KEK 
> 
> Also the student reading in the occult section is Grima Wormtongue lmao only more teenagery and gothtastic ay


	11. Curious humans and black cats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sauron delves deeper into finding ways to link the current world with that of the past.

The next day, Melkor went to work as usual while Sauron took another visit to the library. The small, pale human was there again, and their face lit up with unnatural joy upon sight of him.

“I love your eyes.” said the human, pleasing Sauron’s incredible vanity. Of course, Sauron remained as a sleek black cat with tall pointed ears and his usual fiery feline eyes. They happened to charm any weak-willed individual trapped in their gaze. The human, one young Gerard of ten years was definitely weak of mind and heart, easily impressionable as were many youth. Sauron’s purring calmed anxious nerves and shallow breathing, allowing Gerard to relax. And then Sauron entered his mind.

_‘Tell me… Why do you clothe yourself in black when everyone else does not? You are different… special, yes?’_

Nobody had ever considered Gerard ‘special’ before. Boring, quiet, weird perhaps. But not ‘special’. That was… far too positive, he thought. Now he was being spoken to by a pretty cat with an intelligent, focussed stare and a suave inner voice. A few nights ago, Gerard had done some little rituals for companionship, like he always did on Sundays. They had finally worked… the gods had smiled upon him. The few he believed in… those Sauron would soon discover.

_‘I wear black… because I like it, and everyone else actually does! The people I see every month… they like my clothes.’_ He spoke to Sauron within his mind as if it was the most natural thing, truth and honesty spilling forth.

_‘Where?’_ Sauron probed, pawing at him with a curious look. ‘ _Where do you find people every month wearing black? In the streets, it is all the same… boring fashion trends, so soft and pathetic.’_ After enough people-watching and reading of modern literature, Sauron had learnt of common speech patterns and added them to his manipulative tactics. Gerard sighed and ran his fingers through Sauron’s fur.

_‘Herumor says we’re not meant to talk about it… but I go to the meetings with all the others, and everyone wears black.’_

_‘Take me there.’_ It was more of a command than request, but Sauron found Gerard more than happy to obey him.

“Okay.” said Gerard, picking up Sauron in his arms. “The others will like you… you’re so dark and cuddly.” Sauron took it as a compliment but feared slightly for what exactly would happen when he went with this human… to wherever they were going.

_‘The next meeting is in two days…”_

_~_

Gerard took Sauron home, sneaking him beneath his thick black jacket. Sauron had no way to contact Melkor, and wasn’t about to lose this peculiar opportunity that would surely further their research. Melkor was only working so they could survive - the studies Sauron did about this world were the important things. Melkor barely seemed interested in finding ways back to Middle-Earth, and Sauron had a long list of people from before the First Age to exact revenge upon.

_‘I suppose he can last a night or two without me.’_ thought Sauron to himself, knowing his Lord and Master was perfectly capable of looking after his own affairs. He wasn’t some prissy little elf who needed to be dressed and bathed - why, Melkor could prepare his own meals now that he’d started working at McDonalds. Yes, he was capable of basic survival without his most loyal servant. Sauron eased his worries away. Being pet and admired also helped distract his mind.

 

Melkor arrived home after having asked his boss for leftovers and sneaking some into a bag when she wasn’t looking. He was in a terrible mood, and didn’t care much to remember what Sauron had said about the police. Beings that could detect wrongdoings no matter where they happened? Preposterous. That was a power only the Valar should have. And Melkor could not feel any of his powers even present, save for the ice and fire running through his veins.

He pushed open the door after an angry swipe of his keycard, dumping the huge plastic bag full of cooked meat patties and cold chips onto the nearest armchair.

“Sauron!” His heavy steps went down the hall and into the empty bedroom, then back again. Eyes narrow, Melkor rubbed the side of his neck as it ached with stress. “I have brought thee **food!** ”

The silence unnerved him. _‘Why isn’t he here?’_ and ‘ _What could he possibly have to do at this late hour?’_ bothered Melkor the most. Sauron was always there to greet him, whether it was after a day of counting the dead in Angmar or any few hours of absence. Melkor was always running off and doing things on his own. Sauron did not stop him. After working for eight hours, the Dark Lord needed his servant and lover to look after him. It was a thing he’d grown used to… Sauron’s constant attention and desire to please.

Melkor hated to admit it, but he felt _lonely._ Whatever Sauron was doing, it had better be pretty fucking important. Melkor was going to question him like hell when he returned… _if_ he did.

He stood in the middle of the apartment, staring at the blank wall. His eyes roved to the right, where the couch sat and in front of it, the coffee table. A little further right. The giant window. What was he doing here, in this bland, square house in the sky?

 

~

 

 The next day, Melkor went to work while Sauron was busy being spoiled by his new owner. He pretended that Gerard could keep him, just so he could be pampered. Melkor never appealed to Sauron’s more finicky desires, and with this chance at mind-control and suggestive influence, the Maia wasn’t going to let it go to waste.

It was a nice day, dark and with many things to look at in Gerard’s room. Covering the black walls were posters of rather tame-looking demons compared to the balrogs Sauron had known, and various spooky trinkets lay scattered about. Nothing held any real magical power (save for an ouija board that Sauron poked at and found to be quite useless) but Gerard seemed to believe everything did. Sauron questioned him in great detail, but only found the boy to be a clueless mortal playing at false sorcery. Cute.

He was well-fed and cared for in the two days that he spent with Gerard, quite liking the attention he received yet wondering why the boy hid in his room even when his parents called. Did he not have a life to live, a family to bother with? Nobody ever came in his room, anyway. Tonight, his absence would not be noted.

Gerard wore a thick black coat with a fluffy hood to cover his head, Sauron sitting on his shoulder and enjoying the cool night air. Having thick fur made it much easier to stay warm, especially in winter when a human body would normally freeze. They stole away into the darkness and took a train into the city of another region - Gondor, as was noted on a signpost nearby. Sauron stared at it and wondered if other Middle-Earthy places also existed. Powerful kingdoms did not just fall out of knowledge after thousands of years… not in the Arda Sauron remembered. But this world was so different with the strangest similarities that just appeared out of nowhere. Vast stretches of land were condensed into little towns and concrete-paved cities. Instead of riding horses, people drove around in their motorized boxes, ‘cars’. And Sauron had just taken his first trip on a train, essentially a long box with wheels and several noisy engines. The bright lights in the carriage bothered him a bit, and he smushed his face into the fur of Gerard’s coat. Gerard moved to take Sauron into his arms, and held him close to his chest.

_‘It’s ok. We’ll be there soon.’_

Melkor spent another night alone while his servant was off having adventures. He chewed on the things he’d brought home for dinner, gloomily staring out the window whilst sitting on the floor. He tried to contact Sauron, but could not even feel their mental connection in the slightest. It was like Sauron wasn’t even listening out for him… maybe even ignoring him on purpose.

Sauron was far too busy to worry about Melkor now - he’d been carried into a dark alleyway that stank of corruption and oh, he _loved_ it. People had died here, for the stench of fear and blood hung heavy in the chill air. Gerard breathed shakily with excitement, unable to keep the smile from his face as he nudged open a rusty red door. An eye was painted on it, with the pupil only a slit and an arrow pointing from beneath the lower lid. The top lid had three peaks with a star atop each one… Sauron drew in a breath so sharply he almost inhaled his own whiskers. His symbol. Eye, silmarils and all. Shit was about to get real.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is this progression or just me not knowing how to pace things UGH this arc shouldn’t exist lmao I’m sorry, it’s making the story a lot more complex than it needs to be... oh well XDDD


	12. There Was An Attempt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> suspension of disbelief is required :D

The rusty old door creaked with a sharp, grating sound that echoed through Sauron’s skull. He hissed and opened his eyes after cringing to see what looked like a regular gathering of misfits. The walls were covered in scraps of text and held weapons mounted on silver-painted plastic hooks, many looking crude and orcish. Tattered black drapery hung as blockout curtains over boarded-up windows, and on every piece of cloth there was a white handprint in the center. Sauron didn’t know what that was about, though he quite liked the idea of a hand to symbolize ownership of something. It was the sort of thing he would have come up with himself. Most of the furniture in the room looked quite worn-down, some couches spilling their stuffing with splinters of wood poking out. The people sitting on them didn’t seem to care. Everyone here indeed wore black, just as Gerard had said. But as Sauron squinted and took a closer look at everyone, he could see they were not quite ordinary humans. They were all quite ugly, conventionally speaking. Many had self-inflicted wounds upon their faces, some with noses too large or eyes too small. Some faces had the most terrible proportions, and a recurring issue with many seemed to be proper hygiene. There were crooked, blackened teeth and faces covered with things Sauron didn’t want to look at for more than a glance. Looking at Gerard, Sauron was relieved to see fairly clean skin and a proper face. And it was then he noticed. Just beneath Gerard’s thick black fringe were some red marks, and Sauron reached up to brush the hair away. Gerard thought the cat in his arms was going to remove his eyeballs and leaned back, his hair flying up just long enough for Sauron to see. Gerard had a scar in the shape of Sauron’s own symbol carved into his forehead, probably a few months old judging by the minimal healing around the skin.

 _‘What…’_ Sauron was just about to interrogate Gerard when he felt a hand slide down his back.

“Nice lil puss ya got here…” said a gravely voice, a hoarse edge to every word. The scent of tobacco assaulted Sauron’s senses and he turned to see a squat, balding man with a single black glove on. Unpleasant scents clung to his clothes and he wore just a black tank top and shorts with a ripped up brown cape tied around his thick neck.

Gerard smiled weakly at the man, clutching Sauron a little closer. The man laughed and knocked Gerard’s hood back, his fingers sweeping the dark fringe away. “Show your Mark around here, boy. You’re not just a rookie anymore, are you?”

With a shake of his head, Gerard managed to excuse himself and dipped out of the man’s presence. Sauron felt the rush of adrenaline through the boy’s quickened breaths and clammy hands, now more curious than anything as to what was going on here. Gerard stopped once he had a little space to himself, and took a hair clip out from his pocket. He adjusted his fringe, pinned it back and looked down at Sauron.

‘ _This is a dangerous place for a little cat like you…’_

Sauron shook his head and insisted to be shown around. _‘You’re my new owner, are you not? I want to make sure everything is safe for you here.’_ That was what Gerard wanted to hear - that someone cared about him, even if it was a magical telepathic cat. He put Sauron back on his shoulder and began to walk with his detailed scar in full view. Many of the other people had the Eye somewhere in sight, and those who did not had a white hand instead. It was always the right hand, full-sized and in white paint on the cheek, whole face or neck. The dress code seemed to be ‘filthy casual’, ripped leather and matted furs out for display. Many people were dressed like they hadn’t a shred of humanity in them, and some were even wearing pieces of armor. Armor like what Sauron had taught his orcs to craft… only back then, there had been better materials and the use of more skill. The armor bits here were made of plastics, foam and cardboard.

‘ _Pathetic.’_ Sauron snootily flicked his tail about and nudged Gerard with his head. ‘ _What is the deal with everyone here?’_

 _‘I can’t tell you.’_ thought Gerard, taking Sauron over to a table covered with books.

 _‘Then this is where I must do some research on my own.’_ Sauron quickly transformed into a fly and zoomed away, leaving Gerard stunned and looking around. In a dark corner, Sauron assumed a reasonably fair form, that of a tall, pointy-eared Maia in black robes with orange-gold hair. His skin had a lovely glow to it and there wasn’t a single imperfection anywhere to be seen. It wasn’t for a stealth approach, oh no. He wanted _attention._ And he got it, from none other than the cult leader himself.

“Speak of how you discovered this place and maybe I will save your life.” The man was tall, pale and with slicked back hair in shades of dark brown. Sauron smirked at him, his fiery eyes flashing with intrigue.

“Outspoken, aren’t you? Tell me why everyone here is making a mockery of all things dark and maybe I will let you keep your skin on your body.” He spoke softly but with an entirely real threat in his voice, lips curling to show his many sharp teeth. The man, who was named Herumor and wore black and red curtains for clothes blinked.

“Mockery? We are the Servants of the Eye, followers of the one true God. Who are you to speak against the Shadow?” At this, Sauron narrowed his eyes. He didn’t know how things worked in this world but if anyone dared renounce the name of Illúvatar, they were going to be fucked in the ass by fate for the rest of their life. Of course, Sauron had done so the moment he deserted Aulë and ran into Melkor’s arms. But he was confident he could take whatever life threw at him.

“Who is your God then, hm? Do you worship the stars and cry into the ocean?” Sauron tossed his hair over one shoulder and side-eyed Herumor with a smirk. That smirk dissolved the second he heard the response.

“We worship none other than Melkor; the Corruptor, the Terrible Foe of the World. Master of the Fates of Arda. The Elder King.” Herumor proudly raised his chin and beneath it there were three V shapes with stars at each point… lower, the Eye was tattooed around his adam’s apple and there were flourishes all around it. It really looked as if his neck was on fire, lit by Sauron’s very own flames. “I speak for our Overlord and his prophet, Sauron. I am the voice of the shadow… and these are my people.” He gestured around, the members of the cult minding their own business as if they were almost scared to look at him.

“You do not speak for _me_.” Sauron growled, taking two fingers and intending to summon his Great Eye above his own head. But his magic was waning at this hour after being used for several transformations, and he could only manage two sparks of flame. It was enough to raise an eyebrow from Herumor, and prompt a question.

“Who are you?”

“Mairon… the most beautiful creature you shall ever lay eyes upon.” Sauron adjusted his form to have the Eye upon his forehead in a symmetrical blood-red motif. Now Herumor was both skeptical and awed, halfway between berating Sauron for taking the prophet’s name in vain, and about to faint at the sight of said prophet in the flesh. He took a moment to compose himself, and stepped backwards.

“Mairon… it is in our texts to worship one with your name, the craftsman and lieutenant of the Dark Lord. Yet we know the true Mairon, Sauron, Annatar or how else he takes his name, can not stand before us now. His downfall upon the destruction of the Ring destroyed his fairest form. You are indeed one who looks fairer than us all…”

Sauron, now Mairon, narrowed his eyes. “What _Ring_?”

Herumor laughed. “Ah, you do not know of it. You cannot possibly be the Herald of Darkness come again. Read through the texts on the wall… you will learn all you need to know. But not until you join us… or _die_.”

Instead of listening, Mairon tried to pick through his own memories. He had all his memories of Arda up until the moment he and Melkor escaped… but there were also some strange bits of foresight he recalled now as if they’d not been foresight at all… More like… they were things that had actually happened in the past, the past being the Second and Third Ages along with all that came after that. He remembered Celebrimbor’s betrayal, even though he hadn’t even experienced it yet. He had… only he wasn’t meant to be alive at this time in this world. He was meant to be way back in the First Age, watching the Second dawn and getting ready to take vengeance on the world. He remembered things he hadn’t done yet in his current life, but apparently had done in the time between his time jump from the First Age to Now. Shit was _confusing_ , but legit.

“What was that you were saying about death?” Mairon looked at Herumor with nonchalance and a sigh.

“Join us.”

~

Blood rituals and overuse of flames lead to Mairon becoming a fledgling member of the New Shadow Cult, a place where the rejects of Gondor could band together and feel like they were one. Here came the ugly, the unwanted, the intelligent and philosophical who just could not fit into the superficial world of light. The Darkness welcomed them all. Men broke their own noses to look like Orcs, the fabled beings of great strength and admirable brutality. Those who had naturally squished-in faces felt more at home here than they did anywhere else. Gerard had never been a part of anything group-like before… the Shadow took him in and he learned independence from hearing stories of the harsh lives of the others. Herumor was a different story entirely, an enigma to be later explored. Now, Mairon was _in_ , and had chosen the name _Gorthaur_ for himself. He didn’t need the _Black Speech Naming Guide_ or any of the other lore-related books scattered about. Everything he could offer to the cult was entirely legit, for he’d created it all himself. And Herumor only thought he was a Tolkien enthusiast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nb: Tolkien books exist in this world, only the New Shadow Cult takes the contents of them all (Silmarillion especially) to be retellings of actual fact and history - correlating the End of the Third Age with counts of subsequent Ages and considering the current Age to be the Seventh. However, since the Fourth Age there have been believers that Melkor would rise again, Sauron and a shitload of orcs in tow. In this fic, that stuff actually is history and Tolkien’s works are a collection of historical texts formed into fiction appropriate for mass consumption. Everyone thinks its fiction because all the data about the ages before the Third are so top-secret (kept by the Tolkien Estate, who happen to be immortal descendants of Vairë’s Maiar and preservers of the History of Arda) and when those deeds of heroics and races long dead are compared to most people’s experiences with the modern world, it’s seen as fantasy fiction, shit that could never happen or have happened. Well it was legit, and those who believe in it AND take the side of the Darkness join the New Shadow Cult. Btw regarding the Elves if anyone’s curious, they’re still derping around in the Undying Lands, which happen to be located on a floating island one can only access if they sail West from the furthest point of Europe and have access to the Straight Path… yep :D lmaoooo I did say suspension of disbelief ay?


	13. Return and Regret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> heed the tags for all potential surprises and uncomfortable material

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sauron goes home and shit happens

It was two hours past midnight when Sauron swept his keycard through the sensor on the door. Silent and dark, the apartment had an air of stillness that hung heavy and mist-like, unwilling to part for a soul. So terrible was the lack of visibility that Sauron’s cat eyes could not see more than the basic shapes of the furniture. And Melkor. His great, hulking form sat hunched before the window, short hair grown long to pool around him on the floor. Sauron shivered, his blood running like icy sludge through his veins.

 

“Why is it so fucking cold?” he grumbled, not meaning to disturb his Master but only complaining as he usually did. Suddenly the floor trembled and a grand pull came from the window as Melkor rose, his hair falling in a shadowy curtain over his bare form. Sauron was drawn to him but resisted, afraid. It was never a good idea to get close to Melkor, not when he had the emotional stability of a demon-filled hurricane.

 

Slow minutes passed while steady cracks crept across the frosty window. The breath from Sauron’s lips clouded in short bursts, quick and shallow.

 

When Melkor spoke, his voice was a rumbling thunderstorm just waiting to burst. “Where… hast thou been?”

 

“Acting upon your will, Master.” Sauron tried to speak evenly but it was little more than an attempt. His fingers were stiff, blue tinged and quivering as his lips almost stuttered.

 

The carpet crunched with ice beneath Melkor’s fierce stomp, another step taking him from the window to near the coffee table. “What will of mine is it to give thee leave when thy place is beside me at all times? Shorter sections of his hair masked his eyes from view as he straightened himself with a third step. The sinister red glow of his eyes beamed through thick strands of hair, cutting the air with piercing rays. Sauron squinted as his body instinctively recoiled, then he took a step back. The door was shut behind him. Every limb was becoming more like dead weight with each passing second, the tingling adrenaline fading to a slow, heavy paralysis. Sauron was at the mercy of a being who had none. Melkor’s arm shot out from the darkness and his blackened fingers closed around Sauron’s throat. Scorched, Sauron felt his flesh crackle and smelt the rising smoke not unlike bacon being burnt. He had no breath to scream and panic set his heart racing as Melkor’s thumb pressed into his trachea, glowing red hot.

 

 _‘Where did he get all this power? Wh- can’t breathe, can’t breathe…!’_ He clutched Melkor’s hand but the grip was too tight and spots danced before his eyes. ‘ _No, not the anger. Anything but that.’_ No chance to explain, to soothe and calm Melkor’s wrath with carefully crafted words. The Dark Lord was thoroughly pissed and it was terrifying to behold. Red filled Sauron’s dying vision as Melkor glared into his very soul, eyes bright and furious.

 

“Thou left me in this world, alone. Tell me of thy purpose!” A slight release of the thumb. Death grip less certain to crush muscle and bone together. _Air._

 

“Ghahh, followers, M-Master!” Sauron’s high voice paused for every breath like he was a dehydrated man drinking from a bucket. The more gulps of air he took, the clearer he could think. And then Melkor was pressing again.

 

“Trying to acquire thy own following, think I’m not good enough to lead thee, is that it?!” He squeezed _hard_ , emphasizing a surge of fierce and serious threat to kill. Sauron’s only chance was to show the things he’d learned at the cult meeting and flashed the orcish worshippers clustered around him at his initiation. The signs. White hands. Eyes with mountains and stars. Leather and plate gear. Foam weapons, fire, blood…. Real blood… Nothing was coherent enough for Melkor to _see_. He got garbled images of Angband mixed with the faces of Men he saw every day. All with their short hair and dodgy looks. Not reminiscent of his co-workers at McDonalds… more creepy and unsightly. Fodder for an army, not intelligent beings who would make for devoted followers. The kind of people Melkor would strike as a warlord or God, and who would mindlessly throw themselves at his feet. He did not understand what he saw, so convoluted and senseless. And then he realized Sauron’s face was going purple.

 

“What game thou playest, I know not.” Release. To the ground Sauron fell, still clutching at his throat. “Nor do I care for what explanation could possibly justify this… negligence.” Melkor stooped to glower down at Sauron, the chill air heating around him. Sauron peered at the fine curves of his Master’s defined, muscular form in all its bare glory and felt as if he’d been smote into the ground. There was no room for anger or even thoughts of injustice. All he felt was fear. Perhaps a little relief.

 

“Forgive me…” he whispered, clawing his hands down his own body as fast as he could. Each movement was stuttering, jerky and melted soon into the floor. Down on his knees, he shied from Melkor’s gaze and hung his head towards the carpet. Melkor pushed at Sauron’s forehead with his foot.

 

“Why?”

 

Sauron could not answer to that with anything smart, not now when he could be squished like an ant by his oddly powerful Master.

 

“I am not worthy…” he whispered, closing his eyes and feeling the disconnect as Melkor stood properly.

 

“Stay there and do not go off gallivanting again. Thou art my servant, my scholar, my lieutenant, my love. Do not overestimate thy place.” Contact came again. A gentle, slow caress. Melkor’s hair sweeping past Sauron’s cheek as he walked away.

 

Sauron wept.

****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELL. That happened. It’s Melkor lmao what did you expect? Srsly though if my writing style seems to change and the lengths of chapters get weird, it’s because my macbook died and now I have to use Microsoft Word with its different layout, colours, page width and keyboard that ain’t like the one I used before. UGU. I miss Pages… the mental flow of my writing has changed! yeh yeh excuses excuses XDD kek


	14. More than just us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> if you act like everything's normal, it will be that way until you stop believing.

Saturday morning was a bland, dry event in which Melkor and Sauron said absolutely nothing to each other. Melkor had the most irritating little smile on his otherwise neutral face, and went around preparing breakfast like the past three days hadn’t happened at all. Sauron was in the bathroom, inspecting the marks on his neck. He stroked his long, slender fingers down the discoloured skin and scowled. His carefully-crafted appearance was now marred, and he wouldn’t be able to fix it until after he’d eaten. Speaking of food – upon sight of what was in the fridge, Sauron learnt where Melkor had been getting all of his power from. It turned out that the consumption of food that had been a creature with a soul was not the key to maintaining magical strength. It was just anything nutritious, meat or not. The entire bottom compartment of the fridge was marked ‘vegetables’ and indeed contained some – potatoes, in the form of fries packed to the top. Melkor had been eating all the leftovers he brought from work, simply because they tasted good and he was not one to waste hard-earned (or stolen) food. Thus, he grew immensely powerful with enough stored energy to begin acting as he did in his original form. All that was left was for him to transform into a giant as tall as a mountain and step on all the mortals who got in his way. But there was no need for that. He’d received five hundred and sixty dollars in an envelope from his boss last night, and found that she was going to pay him once a week instead of fortnightly. It pleased him – their funds were in need of a boost if they were going to stay alive. Sauron exited the bathroom to see the money still stuck to the fridge, a little flower-shaped magnet keeping it in place. Something else Melkor had stolen from his workplace… the whiteboard in the break room now missed one magnet which Melkor thought was _magic_. He was learning, and for that Sauron was a little grateful. They would manage. Hopefully.

Melkor turned, facing his servant with a burger in hand. He offered it to Sauron, who turned his nose up and narrowed his eyes.

“What _is_ that?”

“A cheeseburger. No pickles or sauce, though.” Holding out the burger, Melkor waved it back and forth as if he intended to hypnotise his servant with it. Sauron went cross-eyed and took a deep breath.

“You expect me to eat it? That’s peasant food, my Lord. Don’t we have anybody left in the fridge?” He went to check again and near the back of the fridge, where the body parts had been kept, there rested many patties with a covering of ice. Fifty of them. Sauron had read about processed meat and how it was much worse than a good cut of steak or human thigh. He turned to his Master, incredulous.

“Did you eat all those people?”

Melkor shrugged. “I get hungry when I’m alone.” And then he _leered_ at Sauron with a face that said ‘ _You know what you did, you chicken fried fuck.’_ Unwilling to believe any of this was real, Sauron turned away.

“You have my sincerest of apologies.” He nicked a fifty dollar bill from the stack of money on the fridge and palmed it into his sleeve. “Do accompany me on an outing to acquire proper food?”

“What’s not proper about this?” asked Melkor as he stuffed the burger into his mouth. “’Tis good.” Sauron had to look away and close his eyes to avoid retching.

“You know they use entrails and beef trimmings treated with chemicals to make that ‘meat’, right? Why do you think those things are sold for so little coin?”

“O powerful creature of knowledge, bestow upon me thy supreme intelligence!” Melkor cried with so much sarcasm dripping through his voice it could’ve flooded a city. “What the fuck are _chemicals_ , and why should I care about entrails? I’ve eaten a man’s beating heart _raw_ , Sauron. Dost thou feel disgusted by that?”

“No…” Sauron shook his head and ran his hands through his hair. “I only care for your health, Master.” It was only natural to do so much research he found out things he didn’t want to know about Melkor’s new workplace. Sauron learnt of all the hazards McDonalds food could pose to a healthy mortal body, namely in the issues involved with surviving on that stuff alone. Yet it was not his place to deny Melkor anything, whether he wanted to eat junk food or not. But Sauron maintained his own bodily autonomy and turned around. “I cannot eat that. Please, can we not go and buy some food?”

“I’m not going anywhere. Thou art permitted to steal from the folk next door.” Melkor leaned on the countertop, watching Sauron carefully. “No going out and buying anything. Put the money back.”

  
So Sauron went in a huff out the door and with no money in his pocket, intending to ask for a bite to eat. But when he knocked at the door of number 173, he did not expect what happened next. The door opened, just a crack, and the clink of a chain was heard. A single blue eye peered at him.

“Y’all right?” said a voice in a long, weary slur. A few strands of curly blonde hair were visible, yet the person had dark eyelashes with a bit of smeared eyeliner around their lids.

Sauron took a cautious step back. “Just wanted a bit of food, sir. Please, we’ve got nothing.”

The eye looked left and right, then closer at Sauron. Specifically at his neck.

“Heard what went down last night… Come in, eh?” A click. The door swung open and holding onto the handle for balance was a stocky man with lightly tanned skin. He reminded Sauron of Tulkas a little, only minus the facial hair and terrifying muscles. Sauron hoped he was looking decent himself, wearing little more than the black robes he’d made last night. Their magical aura had dimmed and the richness of the fabric was little more than simple cotton now. He was getting desperate. He _had_ to eat.

Before he could say anything, he was offered a bit of toast with nothing but butter on it.

“Damn skinny, you are. Your husband starve you or something?”

Sauron looked at the man. Blinked. “What?”

“Ay ay I’m only askin’. Sounded like he was going to beat the shit out of you last night.” The man, who went by the name of Graham and was yet to fix his face for the day rubbed his eyes. “Couldn’t sleep a wink.”

“M’ sorry.” Sauron managed through a mouthful of toast and chewed on the grains from the bread. It tasted healthy enough, and was probably expensive.

‘ _Shit. I hope I don’t have to pay for this. Oh, he seems nice enough. For an unsuspecting mortal man…’_

“Don’t worry, wasn’t planning on sleep anyway. Sat’day n Sunday are good enough for me. Gonna crash in a few hours.” Graham smiled at Sauron, who looked blankly at him while still chewing. “Mhm?”

Sauron’s eyes roved around the room as discreetly as possible. This apartment was nothing more than a single room with a bed in one corner and a bathroom in the other. There was a toaster and microwave available for preparing food, but nothing else. Not even a fridge. Graham saw Sauron looking towards his little pantry and went to grab something. “You want anything to drink, bro?” He had a cooler beside it and showed a few cans of soda. Sauron nodded, adding “If it’s not too much trouble.” He remained quiet and respectful as he did when asking favours, and could not find it in his blackened heart to hold ill will towards this man. Not all mortals were awful little weaklings who would quail in fear at the sight of Sauron then faint moments later. Sauron could sense inner strength in this weary person, the likes of which he’d not yet seen in this world. He was also too tired to bitch about anything. Last night had been sleepless for him too.

Graham handed a can of Coke to Sauron and rubbed his own neck. Just looking at the bruises on Sauron’s skin made him wonder what kind of man could _do_ that. No man, really. Just one pissy Vala who was desperate without his servant. But Graham did not know that, and went back to leaning on the door. “You’re new here, yeah?”

Sauron tore his gaze away from the various pills scattered on the nearby table and looked into the man’s eyes. “Yeah.”

“You ever need anything, come to me. I ain’t got much, but if you’re looking to get turnt or at least wanna eat, I’m here for you.” Graham flashed another smile, his teeth pure white without a smudge of lipstick or food. He always tried to look his best in hopes of acquiring a friend, but this morning he’d not had enough time to do much. Still, Sauron was not so shallow as to discard such a generous offer because of looks. Melkor had changed, and Sauron felt he would need outside help to deal with his Master sooner or later. “Thank you. Ah, might I ask your name?”

“Graham Finden, best postman east of Gondor.” A gesture behind him and Graham showed Sauron just what that mess of papers on the floor actually was. There was a structure to them, as if they were meant to be read while one was lying down and studying intensely. He winked to Sauron as if they now held a secret between them. “Gotta pay the bills somehow.”

~

When Sauron returned to Melkor, he barely had time to tense up before he realized Melkor wasn’t going to do anything to him. The Dark Lord merely turned and stared at the can in Sauron’s hand, then lost interest.

“Found what thou sought?” he muttered, flicking at the tassels on the couch.

“Yes, good food and a bit of potential company.” Sauron had just enough energy to fix his appearance and went to sit in Melkor’s lap, resting his drink on the coffee table. Melkor raised an eyebrow.

“Potential company? I do hope thou shalt not flee _my_ company now.”

“Never.” Sauron shook his head and leaned to rest his head on Melkor’s chest. “You are my Lord, my Master, all I live for. Everything I do, I do for you.”

“Mn.” grunted Melkor as he fisted his hand in Sauron’s hair. The orange-gold colour had started to return, but was not as glorious as it had been a few days ago. Melkor didn’t care. It still felt like fine silk in his hands. He absently massaged his servant and felt that familiar body heat shared with him, warm and spreading to his coldest extremities. This was nice. Why could they not just stay together forever and not have to worry about going to work and being separated? Was this their punishment for attempting to destroy the world? Melkor only saw his actions against Arda as improvements. It seemed now his creative vision had lead to nothing but misery… as it always had. For now, he could handle this. Next week would be another story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> random neighbor character is random C: the OC-like folk I make up for this story will make more than one appearance, lemme tell you. Rainbow bird man and Durin bros included. 
> 
> btw the next update for this story might take a few months >_


	15. Something New

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mortal bodies cannot survive on McDonalds alone for long. Melkor needs flesh, yet can hardly be bothered killing in the city where the cops are after his sweet ass. Sauron has a plan, one to get a better job that produces more coin. Then they can buy steaks, keep their magic going and live evilly ever after.  
> Melkor resists.

An entire week passed in steady, monotonous routine. Melkor went to work, he came back, sometimes with food, and Sauron was there to greet him. Always with a smile, Sauron would wrap his arms around Melkor’s waist and give him a nice warm squeeze. Until he realised one day he would not be able to fit his arms all the way around. It was Sunday evening and Melkor was counting his money with a look of absolute serenity when Sauron approached him. Dressed in little more than a red linen shirt that went to his knees, Sauron sat on the bed. Melkor felt it dip a little, his attention waned, and he lay back. He’d lost count already but knew they had enough to buy food for the week ahead. Same as last week, really. Get money, buy food, eat food, repeat. It was getting boring, but Melkor didn’t mind. Sauron kept him entertained enough with his cheeky ways and unending desire to please.

“Master…” Sauron had his hair tied up and his neck was bare, pulse visible. “I have been meaning to ask you about something.”  
“Go on.” said Melkor, placing his money on the bedside table and folding his hands over his stomach. Pleased and curious, he snuck a peep between Sauron’s parted legs. They promptly shut and he was forced to question _why_ with his eyes.

Sauron drew a deep breath. Calmed his mind. He was going to _lie_ to the Dark Lord, the master of manipulation himself.

“I trust you have become acquainted with working in this world, yes?”

Melkor nodded, reaching to rest on hand on Sauron’s thigh.

“It has been brought to my attention that there are better ways of earning larger amounts of money in less time… You will no longer have to pretend you respect or willingly serve anyone, not with this new opportunity I have found for you.” This drew a confused little grunt from Melkor, who raised an eyebrow.

“My current work arrangements are reasonable enough, Sauron. There is no need for thee to interfere…” He stroked his servant’s inner thigh with his thumb, feeling the warm flesh give beneath his touch. Sauron squirmed and tried to look serious.

“Would you not rather the ability to sit in comfort and keep to yourself, rather than having to stand all day and endure the idiocy of lowly mortals?”

“Hey. They are not all complete imbeciles.” Melkor had an edge to his voice and flicked Sauron, earning a squeak in reply. But after that, Sauron was silent for a few seconds.

 _‘Has he made **friends**_ _at work? Preposterous! He knows nothing of this world other than what I have taught him; there would be no common ground he has to speak of with anyone other than me… Not to mention his abrasive social skills.’_ These thoughts were private and aggressive, rapidly churning in Sauron’s mind to explain what reasons Melkor could possibly have to be happy with his current job. He decided a little reminder of their proper life was due, and tensed his entire body.

“Might I inform you of what we aspire to, and who we are? You are the greatest being in all existence, Melkor the Corruptor, the Terrible Foe of the World. A God among all folk! The mightiest Dark Lord! Why should you ever settle for being anything less than that?”

Melkor twisted his hand and raked his sharp nails along the underside of Sauron’s crotch. “I know who I am. Know thee the difference between _being_ and _existing_? I live as I must, as the fruit of thy guidance in survival on this earth. What chance do I have, what funds do we own, and who will fight countless battles in my name while we live like mortals in their city, their homes, their McDonalds’?”

Sauron sensed in that moment that his Master felt a strong disconnect. From what their current reality was, along with all they had been before.

 _‘It’s good he still remembers who he is, still sees himself as the Dark Lord. I won’t have him as anything less. It just won’t be right.’_ He thought to himself while retracting his balls up into his body. Melkor only groped him a bit more, pulling his attention to what was _really_ going on.

“In… any case… This new job I propose to you will earn more money and speed our process into living how we should. Perhaps we can re-decorate the apartment to be our true stronghold, a fortress of all things dark. Maybe some heads on spikes, some better clothes… And good food.”

“Food?” Melkor sat up, his hand sliding to Sauron’s hip. “Is this that problem thou hast pestered me about for the past week? How I should _refrain from taking food from work_ and how it is _bad for me_?”

Sauron cringed yet stood strong enough to not backpedal into pure cowardice. “I cannot watch you poison yourself day by day, no matter how powerful you are. There are better, finer things my Master deserves to eat… And is it not good to have a little variety sometimes?”

Melkor shook his head and smacked Sauron’s thigh. “No. I eat what I like. Meat and potatoes are just fine.” He grabbed his servant just as Sauron yelped and nearly jumped off the bed, then pulled him into a tight hug. “Thy concern is endearing, but I need no other job than the one I currently maintain.”

“The Dark Lord, working for minimum wage. Oh, what has the world come to?” Sauron wailed into his Master’s shoulder, part of his exasperation real and a little sorrow faked. “We shall stay here forever then, bound to this world with nothing but greasy shit to eat and dead people’s clothes!”

“Stop that at once!” Clutching Sauron by the shoulders, Melkor strained to pull him away and shake some sense into him. "S-Sauron!" Aghast, Melkor tried to shush his servant with his mental force but Sauron only cried harder. It felt _wrong_ to choke him into silence when he was like this, with real tears streaming down his face and such beauty twisted in pain. He clasped a hand over Sauron's mouth to at least quell the noise and almost immediately it stopped, only to be replaced with a high pitched whining.

Melkor stared with his dark crimson eyes into Sauron's pallid face. "Does this really mean so much to thee?"

Sauron nodded through his shivering, muffled cries and whined a little more.

_'He really thinks this is the best thing for both of us... I can feel it. But why? Why is he so against my current working arrangements?'_

Melkor kept his hand to Sauron's mouth as he seriously thought about what was going on.

 _'He told me this before... And I remember, yes I am the Dark Lord who would... usually slaughter any human who dared contact my physical form. Yet I serve them at McDonalds... Well it's just to earn money, isn't it? Nobody has disrespected me yet... Then again, I haven't asked for anything much. It's not the most terrible job. But if Sauron has a better idea... and is this vocal about it...'_ Melkor did not think about where he was supposed to be and what he was meant to be doing - how many elves he was yet to torture and the next steps needed to occupy all of Middle-Earth. His quickly adapting mind had gotten _used_ to the prospect of working, and he honestly didn't know what other kinds of jobs there were. It was probably better that he focussed on the present than the past anyway, for the modern world would not take lightly to his flaming wrath upon it in this day and age.

“Tell me… what dost thou have in mind?”

Sauron stopped crying almost immediately, but made sure to sniffle a bit so he didn’t seem entirely fake. He rubbed his face into Melkor’s chest when the Dark Lord let go of him, then sighed.

“I… want you to consider an office job… one where you work at a desk doing things with paper and the like.” Looking up, he peered into his Master’s eyes. “I will teach you how to read, and work even harder for your sake. All you must do after that is go to an interview.”

The pursuit of knowledge greatly intrigued Melkor and he did actually trust Sauron’s judgement to a degree. “How about this.” He pulled Sauron to lie down with him, resting his head against the soft pillows. “I shall keep my current job while studying to acquire another, only leaving when our next money-source is confirmed.”

“That sounds like an excellent plan, Master.” Sauron could barely contain his glee. At last! Melkor had caved in, and it had only taken some nagging and tears.

 

It only took a week for Melkor’s quick mind to grasp the concept of literacy, likening the systems of letters, numbers and punctuation to what he knew of ancient Tengwar. He could read old elven scrolls and now proper English, though he had to say most things aloud to understand complex sentences. Sauron lay beside him every night and assisted with the first modern book either of them had ever read – _Game of Thrones._ Melkor found the elements of horror and political struggle fascinating and familiar enough to want to read until his eyes fell out. Sauron was glad he’d chosen such a popular book – all the stores nearby had this one on display as ‘the greatest new fantasy adventure since Tolkien.’ Knights and swords, blood and dragons. It was just like a tale from Middle-Earth, when the elves cried in horror and begged for mercy from the Dark Lord. Only this time, there was hope amongst all the dark and dreary common folk. Melkor considered even high Lords and Kings as peasants compared to his own regal majesty. So he read, and continued to work. Sauron prayed for the day he would see his Master walk through the door without a bag of burgers in hand.


	16. Do you see what I see?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smol Melkor in the body of a big doof. Eternally exasperated Sauron. One wises up and the other cringes down. I WONDER WHAT'S UP???

One day after work, Melkor exited McDonalds to find Sauron waiting for him with a smile.

 _“What are you doing here?”_ He spoke to his servant’s mind without opening his mouth and tilted his head to the left. Sauron only bowed slightly and reached to grab Melkor’s hand, caressing the rough skin with his own soft fingers.

 _“There has been a disturbance during the day, and police swarm the area. Let me guide you back to our stronghold…”_ His intent seemed pure enough, and it was not a thing Melkor wished to chance.

 _‘Of course.’_ Together the two walked like lovers, hand in hand. Down Main Street they went, observing familiar surroundings in the waning afternoon light. Melkor’s eyes roved without aim, while Sauron’s gaze flickered from him to their path ahead. After ten minutes, they came to the outer edge of the nearby shopping precinct. There were still some police around after all that had happened but their presence did not incite fear. Melkor feared nothing, and Sauron knew he’d done nothing wrong. They were playing it safe. Just like the rest of society.

 _‘The weather’s warming up.’_ Melkor’s idle commentary found truth in clear skies and comfortable temperature. Sauron’s hatred for Winter now could dissolve in the approaching heat of Spring. _‘A nice change for you, hm?’_

 _‘Most definitely… though I fear no chill when by your side, Master.’_ Sauron’s hot caress rolled in a wave upon the shores of Melkor’s mind, stirring up grains of mild pleasure. To sense his Lord at such ease brought an honest relief into his usually tense body. Melkor felt him relax and smiled. A few people walking past gave them odd looks, but neither cared for anything but each other. Until Sauron saw it.

“Look!” Like a child he gasped, mouth open and eyes wide. His free hand pointed a perfectly pointed nail towards a storefront with a huge glass window protecting its expensive contents. Lined up in the window, twenty flickering boxes sat. Or at least, they appeared to flicker with moving images as Sauron’s keen eyes could see faster motion with more clarity. Twenty frames per second was too slow for him. But frames of what? “There… there are tiny people inside those boxes!”

“Hoooooooooh…” Melkor tore away from Sauron’s side to press his face against the glass, nearly headbutting it into pieces. “Small mortals! Bow to your Lord!”

“M-Master wait, not here, they can’t hear you…” The more sensible side of Sauron held suspicion and disbelief close to immediate fascination. “Let’s go inside. There’s this glass in the way, see?”

Melkor stared, transfixed. His vision could focus and detect what was on all the screens at once, an ability he’d used in the past for observing his vast armies. One TV showed people running around on green grass, chasing each other and kicking a ball. Another had one woman sitting at a desk, speaking it seemed directly at Melkor. Most had jittery commercials with bright colours flashing and products spinning around like a three-dimensional noscope. Melkor had to be _dragged_ from the display by his loyal (and embarrassed) servant. Inside the store, he stood taller than most of the low shelves there and felt more powerful than he usually did after a long working day. There were few people in the store, most wearing blue shirts and black pants. Most of them were ending their daily shifts and decided against approaching the dude who looked like a death metal vocalist in a McDonalds uniform with the surprisingly flat-chested ‘woman’ at his side. Sauron threw his fiery curls over one shoulder and fixed an employee with his burning gaze.

“You there. What are these?”

“Our new affordable LCD monitor displays, ma’am. Only eight hundred dollars for the display stock there. Your ah… husband seems rather taken with them.” The balding salesman’s eyes ghosted over Sauron to take aim at Melkor, who’d found the biggest TV in the entire store. Standing up close to it, Melkor turned his head this way and that, trying to understand the dimensions within the TV. Sauron giggled.

“Oh, he’s never seen one of those before.” His hand waved about as if dismissing folly. _‘These things are probably common as fuck, and here we are looking like idiots. What the hell is an el-see-dee??’_

The salesman gave a thin smile, constantly flicking his gaze from the greasy-haired giant over by a four-thousand dollar flatscreen to the androgynous being before him. Behind the register, the other employees watched with mild amusement. It was always Paul who had the odd customers to look after. Tension could be observed in his stiff, weakened posture.

“Oh, you must forgive me for asking, but what does LCD stand for? I’m not the most… technically inclined.” Sauron batted his eyelashes in the most seductive manner possible, deciding to act stupid _and_ cute. Paul gave an automated response.

“Liquid Crystal Display, the clearest in visual technology, with millions of colours and an incredibly high resolution…”

Sauron nodded and smiled as the salesman waffled on. His patience wasn’t exactly the longest unless Melkor was concerned, and he tried to salvage bits of useful information from what he was being told. Most of the words were foreign to him – all fancy sounding jargon.

Melkor craned his neck around his chosen flatscreen to inspect the back. Aside from some connection ports and ventilation slits, there was nothing of note. The cable however caught his attention as it snaked in a thick black line into the wall. When he focussed his hearing, the high-pitched whine of electricity running through could be heard. It sounded like the voices of a thousand tiny men screaming.

 _‘Oh, I like this sound. It’s all the people being forced into the box, isn’t it? Where does this shiny rope go? Let’s see…’_ He reached with one thick hand to touch the cable and followed it down to the power point, balancing at a most awkward angle. Just a little further, and he could grab the bulbous head attached to the socket…

Sauron could see what Melkor was doing in the reflection of a screen nearby. Internally he suppressed an oncoming aneurysm and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Ahh… all this talk is giving me a headache. Can you at least explain what’s going on there?” He pointed to a screen that showed some half-naked guys running through a forest.

“That’s a rerun of Survivor on channel Ten. You know they weren’t just dropped in there to survive for themselves, it’s all rigged for television…”

 _‘Television. Tele- is distant communication in Westron… and vision is to see. AH! Communication vision? These flat-screens are things you look at, and – oh by Melkor’s sweet nipples THEY ARE PALANTÍRI!’_ Sauron whirled around to inform Melkor of his fantastic revelation and the excitement in his throat died to a whimper. Melkor had stuck his fingernails into the socket to try and pry the plug out, not understanding how all those screaming people could move through solid metal bars. And, because of the incredibly high voltage that ran to power the store, energy connected with his flesh the moment he made contact.

“GHGNGGNGNGNGNGNNGNNNNNN!” His violent spasms made every hair stand on end and jerked his body in all sorts of destructive ways. To the floor the huge flatscreen crashed, and the cries of entire civilizations filled Melkor’s ears. The searing hot electricity gave him one hell of an erection and nearly stopped his heart. Sauron meanwhile was trying his best not to lose his shit and void bowels on the floor, despite not having any. Along with the TV fell the shelf Melkor had leaned on with all his majestic weight. That single shelf had held countless more live electronics, and Sauron facepalmed as Melkor seemed to have an epileptic fit on the supercharged, glass-filled floor.

“Fucking Christ…” Paul slapped a hand to his mouth in absolute horror, while his colleagues cried “How shocking!”

Puns aside, something had to be done and soon all the electricity in the place had been shut off. Once Melkor’s charge had drained out, Sauron summoned all his strength and dragged the Dark Lord out of the store. With the power of his will he kept the panicking salesman away, and knew in his heart they could never set foot in that store again. People stared the two Ainur down Main Street, then Doloth, and finally Mordor Lane. Once into the apartment building Sauron dared to take the elevator, and in minutes Melkor was safely at home, on the floor. In exhaustion Sauron collapsed atop his beloved Master. His silly, accident prone Master.

 

~

 

It was well past time for breakfast the next day when Melkor awoke, his internal clock having failed its job at seeing him to work on time. Sauron was already trudging through the kitchen with bits of food to prepare, namely a couple of eggs with a bit of cheap mincemeat. Melkor’s low groan brought a tired gaze upon him, one that quickly turned to concern.

“Are you alright?” asked Sauron, leaving his eggs in a bowl to attend Melkor’s needs.

Melkor was curled in a ball on his side and muttered to himself. “I… do not feel well…”

“Oh…” Sauron did try to keep pity from his voice, he really did. But seeing Melkor lying there like an abandoned wolf pup did nothing for his internal resolve. He knelt beside the Dark Lord and wrapped one arm around him, holding Melkor close. His hair fell in thick piles over Melkor’s fry-oil scented locks. Melkor was still in his work clothes, and smelt like burnt sweet potatoes. “You poor thing. Come, get up. The floor will do you no good…”

“…a wonder how I ended up here.” Melkor glanced at Sauron from the corner of his eye and saw his gaze avoided. His memory was fuzzier than the wild mess of his hair, and from time to time he felt a prickle like ants biting down his flesh. When Sauron touched him, a zap sparked between them that was more than their shared bond. Melkor still had a buzz going on. It reminded him of the police and their lightning boxes…

“Uuuurghh…” His guttural groan sounded nauseated enough for Sauron to inch away. “Leave me to die here… all hope is lost… our armies are vanquished…”

“Not on my watch.” said Sauron, and heaved Melkor up with determination in his downward-fixed stare. Melkor made several _blurgh_ s of distress until he was dropped onto the couch and covered with its tasseled blanket.

“Stay there, my Lord. I shall prepare breakfast for you.”

Melkor could only whine and grumble at his own discomfort as Sauron sauntered away. With new purpose and energy, Sauron worked at preparing some sort of mangled egg-and-meat creation. He handed it to Melkor in a bowl once ready and saw only raised eyebrow as thanks.

“What is this…?”

“Food. Eat, you need your strength.” Sauron had little space to sit while Melkor was spread on the couch like half-melted butter. He offered the bowl again, hoping this time Melkor would take it. The oh-so powerful Mightily Arising Lord of Darkness turned his face away.

“Nyeh.”

 _‘…he doesn’t want it?’_ Sauron squinted a red beam of testy nerve into his Master’s mind. _‘If you don’t eat you won’t be able to move much…’_

 _‘Then summon thy strength and carry me around. Or give that here. I’m tired…’_ Melkor really did look too drained to do much else than complain, and Sauron wasn’t in the mood for any of it.

 _‘For fuck’s sake…_ ’ His own lack of sleep was hidden by a crafty smile. “Of course.” Sauron did most of the work involved in getting Melkor to sit up, then sat beside him. He lifted the fork up to his master’s lips, parted them with an inviting nudge, then fed Melkor a bit. After fifteen minutes, Melkor had recovered his energy somewhat but still went slack in Sauron’s hands, unable to bother with much more. Sauron knew this after a quick scan of Melkor’s mind and after the food was gone, he thought to escape.

“You need a shower.” he said, turning to peep into Melkor’s shifty eyes. “I figured out how to use it the other day… and also acquired some hair fragrances.”

“Mn? Fragrances? Sauron, thou knowest I have little love for fancy shit. Rose petals and lavender perfumes suit thee much more than-”

“Master. Come.”

There was no arguing spirit in Melkor’s heart this morning. When Sauron used that firm, dark tone with a hint of nasal snark, he meant _business._ So Melkor rose, groaning with the effort of un-sticking himself from the couch, and dragged his way into the bathroom. The ceiling nearly touched his head, as it wasn’t meant for seven-foot-tall Valar to wander beneath.

“Tis awfully cramped in here…” He recognized the tiles to be similar to what covered most of Angband’s deep bathing pools, but those had been of polished obsidian and sometimes marble. These looked a lot… cheaper, and far too white. He narrowed his eyes. It looked like _Manwë’s_ bathroom with all the lack of colour. “Sauron, I don’t…”

“IN.” Sauron had already turned the hot water on all the way and shoved Melkor into the shower stall, smirking as he heard a _crack_.

“Agh, my fucking shoulder! Th-” Melkor’s spitting agony died in his mouth as Sauron grabbed hold of his balls. When his voice was a mere breath, his servant smirked.

“Better. Now, hold still. This won’t take long.” Sauron picked up a generic sponge (which was meant for the kitchen, but worked well enough) and applied some liquid soap onto it. It was strawberry scented and sickeningly sweet to Melkor, who preferred smoky and pungent things. Sauron however loved it as he did his precious honey pastries back home and slathered Melkor in pinkish suds.

 _‘Oh, save me…’_ Melkor whined to himself, rolling his eyes back into his head and staring up at the cavern of his skull. It was black, and distracting enough. His mind wandered as he noted the darkness. His eyeballs used to be black, with irises burning red and pupils always changing. Commonly his gaze had been a malicious, turbulent reflection of his soul. Only Sauron and Manwë could meet his eyes. Everyone else turned away. Now that his eyeballs were white, he supposed he looked normal enough to hold a stare.

“Ah, lift your arm…” Sauron muttered, scrubbing around one of Melkor’s nipples.

“Ngh.” Melkor did as commanded. “Must thou be so rough?”

“You like it rough, don’t you?” The innocent tone and expression Sauron took contradicted his dirty words. Melkor remembered the last time he’d let Sauron top him in the bedroom, many centuries ago when the world was young. Sauron had clothed himself in leather and chains, using a fire-tailed whip and his best I’m-in-charge voice. Melkor shivered.

“I am no delicate maiden for thee to plunder, weary as I am. Finish this arduous task…” He looked away through the foggy glass door. “If thou willst.”

Sauron grunted in disappointed reply and continued his duty. It was more for himself than Melkor – he couldn’t bear any state of uncleanliness upon his Master, especially when said Master could strip naked and initiate bodily contact at any time. For that to end any way other than in bloodshed, he had to be _clean_. Sparklingly so. Sauron made sure of that and went everywhere, behind ears and between legs.

“Bend for me…” he murmured, reaching for the shampoo. When Melkor gave him a look of suspicious disbelief, he snapped “I’m going to wash your hair!” _‘For all the talk I do, I respect your boundaries, Master. A shame you don’t do the same for me…’_

_‘What was that? I wasn’t listening… too busy contemplating thy loyalty.’_

_‘Oh, please.’_ Sauron squirted shampoo right onto Melkor’s forehead and short of drawing satanic symbols, managed to get a little into his hair.

“And this is…?” Melkor absently rubbed the goop through his hair, then sniffed it. Upon sticking a finger into his mouth before Sauron could stop him, he gagged. “It’s not honey?!”

“Honestly, my Lord, are you a _child_? Were you truly mortal, you would have been sitting in the lap of Mandos by now. Don’t eat it. It’s only _scented_ like honey.”

“Real honey is better, you know. Honey and milk… was that not thy skincare routine for the former part of the First Age?”

Sauron rolled his eyes and forced Melkor to squat. “Stay down there, and close your eyes. If you don’t, this will burn.”

_‘But burning is nice…’_

“Not this kind.” Into Melkor’s hair, long fingers massaged up a good lather out of all the shampoo. Sauron had no clue how much to use and so poured heaps onto Melkor’s head. The Dark Lord’s hair was getting long again, now reaching a little past his shoulders. _‘Perhaps we should cut it some more. If he’s going for a business job soon, he should not look like a sloppy layabout. That’s the general view people these days have of males with long hair… when they don’t read them as female. Pah. Stupid narrow-minded humans.’_ His hands crunched in a bit, enough to pulverize a baby’s head. Melkor however had quite a thick skull (but don’t tell him that) and only felt a little pain.

“Go easy there, damn it. Dost thou forget my most recent trauma?”

“Oh, shut up. Go and sleep after this, and forget those traumas for yourself.” Sauron, while withstanding Melkor’s crude loyalty test made sure he looked after him while at once taking the liberties of free speech. It was unlikely Melkor would hold anything against him after a proper rest, one that would heal his formerly electrified body. Melkor mumbled curses under his breath as a little shampoo dripped past his eyelids and stung brutally. It reminded him of being blasted in frozen air after a relaxing lava bath. _Nice._

Once a month’s worth of fryer grease had been forced out of Melkor’s hair, all that blackness was rinsed out. There was actually a shine now, and the pretty kind that Sauron adored. Melkor didn’t have his usual elemental highlights showing, but probably would after recovering more energy. Sauron ran his bare hands over Melkor’s steaming chest, the boiling water from above beating down upon it. The curves of powerful muscles existed among a little fat, along with the usual bones here and there. Melkor hadn’t lost any of his arm strength, and Sauron approvingly ran his gaze along with touch past thick biceps.

“Mm… I think you’re clean now.” The words were foreign to both of them. _‘I never thought I would say **that** to **him** …’_

“About time. Now… I can get out, right?” Melkor’s question cemented Sauron’s belief that the shock had done something to his mind.

“Yes, yes of course. Go, and dry yourself. Unless you like being wet.” With a dismissive wave of his hand, Sauron attended to his own hair. Melkor watched him for a moment before trying to bolt out of the shower, luckily catching his errant hand on the door for long enough to open it. It was left for Sauron to close after.

_‘Now… I can truly concentrate. Just what has happened in his mind? He seems changed, in a similar vein to how he was when we first arrived in this world. Simple… and almost obedient. Less… stubborn, more pliant to my will… Is this… an opportunity for what I truly desire? Nay, I have long since given up. But… to see him so childlike! It is unbefitting of a Dark Lord… more suited to one who would follow a greater being. One… such as myself.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally ugh I forced myself to get back into writing this and HERE YOU GO.  
> is it ok? I hope my style's not stuffed up.


	17. Mental Age: Inquisition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is literally the worst chapter in the entire story hhHAAAAA but ayy. Plot is come.

 

Melkor did not find sleep during the day, having the glory of unconsciousness evade him to the point of frustration. He lay on his side in bed, face pressed into one of the pillows. These weren’t real, personal pillows. They were cheap satin-covered display ones. There was still much in the apartment that did not feel too homely, and the bedroom had the most of it. Melkor gazed whilst frowning at the window. Small and facing east, it was more fitting of an underground bunker than a high-rise apartment. It was his favourite thing to stare out of though, as there was a certain comfort in his old late-night watching behaviour. He’d often done it from his bedroom in Angband, while Sauron slept in peace. Fires and flashes, lava pits and wraith wisps. His kingdom, his land, and his own special part of Arda. He loved to lay eyes upon all that he owned. But now, he had little view other than a grid-like city veined with long grey roads. He couldn’t look down and hope to see much, not from this weird little window. But as he lay, he stared at the eastern sky and did nothing more. There was a certain peace in being brain-dead. He did not think strategy or intelligence, nor worry for anything at all. His trust in Sauron remained absolute, and he had so little energy it calmed him to feign rest. After such a vigorous shower he wished for nothing more than a couple hours to himself. Hours meant time to him now that he lived like a mortal. Sometimes, he projected in years. It didn’t seem worth it any more. Not unless he had Sauron beside him, validating what few ideas ran through his mind.

_‘He should still be finding a way for us to return… and I trust he will get that done. How quickly he does it… doesn’t matter. It’s comfortable here… yes…’_

In the kitchen, Sauron was thinking what to make for lunch when he caught a flicker of thought in his Master’s mind. He always monitored Melkor’s thoughts in an easy, background-type way that used little of his own power unless certain conditions were met. I won’t bore you with details, but essentially if serious shit began going down, Sauron was the first to know. Now, he listened to what Melkor was considering. He was shocked to find absolute complacency with their current situation and very little drive towards future goals. Had they not just set the task of literacy and a white-collar job upon him nine days ago?

 _‘If he goes lazy on me I shall pull out his fucking eyes. He may have lost his malice and wit but I will be **damned** if he retreats from life! Has he not gone far enough into this… vulnerable little shell? My Master will not change any further, for as long as I remain loyal to him I will do what I can to prevent it.’_ The rational old Sauron spoke clearly to the frozen Maia with knife and potato in hand. Another voice whispered. _‘Oh, but look at our poor Dark Lord! He sticks his fingers into power sockets and barely knows how to care for himself. Would it not be easier to look after him like a son and take him under your guidance? You are after all the most sensible one here… Do you remember how good it felt when he took your orders, when we were back in Middle-Earth? Having that power over such a mighty being? Come… feel this. Feel how lovely it was to have him bend to your touch.’_ Memories Sauron did not own came flooding from his overactive imagination. Melkor kneeling to his feet, thanking him for a sudden military victory. Melkor begging to please him, offering service for a minor convenience. Melkor’s eyes swirling with adoration and reverence, while Sauron clenched a hand of manipulative silk strings. Visuals came, and Sauron found himself giggling. The knife was clutched harder. The potato fell.

 

~

 

In the afternoon, Melkor wandered out to see what Sauron was up to. He found a meal of mashed potatoes and seared chicken waiting, kept warm by the hands of his hot-blooded servant.

“Is that for me?”

Sauron stood and offered the plate. “Of course. You need to regain your strength.”

Melkor took it and sat down in an armchair, eating with his fingers. While he stuffed his face, Sauron took the opportunity to discuss matters without fear of being interrupted.

“About those people-filled boxes we saw yesterday.” He combed through his hair with a few fingers, eyeing Melkor with some degree of scrutiny. “They are called _televisions_ , or _TVs_ for short.”

“I don’t like all these abbreviated words. There are too many of them – Mcthis, Mcthat, TV, uh…” Melkor waved his hand around. Sauron only nodded, staving off a derisive snort.

“Yes… one with the power of knowledge such as yourself surely understands how they work. However, you may be dismayed to know that they are…” Looking away, Sauron batted his eyelashes and feigned upset. Melkor prompted him with raised eyebrows. “…Fëanorian craft.”

“FUCK!” Melkor swore and nearly flipped his plate into the stratosphere, kept still only by a sudden surge of strong will that locked him into place. Sauron untensed his mental hold before the Dark Lord could question it.

“The Palantíri were the best communication devices the elves had… one in Gondolin I think, and a few further East. TVs, flat as they are, show visions of other locations and include clear sound to distinguish conversations. I believe the ones of this age are _controllable_ by even mortals… they use something called a ‘remote’.”

Melkor continued chewing on a thick piece of chicken, his stare blank. Sauron wasn’t sure if he understood all that was being said but kept explaining nonetheless. Somewhere in his vast, twisted mind, Melkor was listening.

“The bigger TVs are more expensive, and some cost more than all our available funds. What food we could buy in a month would be easily squandered on some of those ‘flat-screens’. I propose that we-”

“I want one. Get me the biggest.” Melkor spoke with his mouthful before Sauron could relay his plan. Sauron facepalmed hard enough to cause a loud _plap_.

“Master, you realize we are in danger of starvation if we just go and buy a TV, right?”

“I didn’t say you had to buy it.” Back to his food and watching Sauron from beneath his eyebrows, Melkor smirked. _‘Did that surprise thee?’_

_‘Yes it fucking did! Do you not remember about the extra sensory perception of the law enforcement around here? The police will be upon us **both** if we even considered it! Banish the thought from your mind.’_

‘ _I will banish NOTHING, Sauron. It is my will that thou acquire me a TV – the biggest and most majestic one of all.’_

_‘But I don’t even know how big these things go!!’_

_‘Then find out. Go, do it now.’_ Melkor waved Sauron towards the door while his servant looked at him in disbelief.

_‘I can’t believe this. By the flame of Udún I do NOT have-”_

“Must I ask thee again?” A sudden low danger entered Melkor’s voice. For a moment Sauron was stunned, a part of him wishing to experiment with how far he could push his Lord. Perhaps, if prodded enough in this state, Melkor would revert to his normal self… he just needed the right snapping point. But something stopped Sauron from bothering him any further. He could still feel the throb of fear that went along with those hands around his neck, and a little sentiment in his heart was held for the childlike, mortal-bodied Vala.

“As you wish.”

 

The first thing Sauron did was go next door for advice. Three knocks and he was greeted by his acquaintance Graham, who looked unusually happy to see him.

“Ah! It’s you!”

“Indeed. I need your assistance with a rather serious matter.”

Graham stepped back, allowing Sauron in. He wore little more than a stained white tank top and grey trackpants but still managed to look presentable. Combing through his curly hair, he asked what he could help with.

“My roommate wants a TV, yet we cannot afford one. He asks me today to find the biggest one available...” Dejected, Sauron slumped. “I fear what he will do to me if I fail to return with something expensive.”

“Aw… don’t look so down, I’ll do everything I can to help. How much money do you guys have?” Graham set a gentle hand upon Sauron’s shoulder, gazing at him with honest kindness in his sky blue eyes.

“About two thousand dollars.”

“Well, most flatscreens are a little over that… oh, ya know what? I just came up with something.” The man dashed off into a corner of the room, dragging out a small boxy TV from behind a basket full of clothes. “You ever seen a CRT?”

“A what?”

“CRT. No clue what it means, but these little guys are seriously cheap.”

Sauron narrowed his eyes. “It’s tiny.”

“Ahh, but look here!” Graham turned the thing around, flexing his muscles a bit. “Ngh. See these ports? You can hook it up to a projector n’ make the entire ceiling your TV!”

“A… projector?” _‘Ai, I must sound like an absolute fucking walnut now. Not knowing what all these things are, while he speaks of them so freely…’_

“Yeah. Like the things they use at the movies. They’re about $95 if ya get ‘em from the electrical place down the road.”

Sauron cringed. “I can’t go back there. Not after what Melkor did.”

“Melkor? Is that your roommate?” The name sounded so foreign to Graham that he just had to ask. “Where’s ‘e from?”

“The pits of hell.” Hoping to brush off an interrogation with mild humour, Sauron made an attempt. Graham actually agreed and laughed softly.

“Mm. Seems legit, eh? But ya know, I haven’t asked _your_ name. Do tell.”

Sauron decided that since he was being honest, there was no need for false identity. “The most recent one I have been called is _Sauron_.”

Graham scoffed. “Hmph! Oh, excuse me, Sire!” He bowed down dramatically. “I had no idea I was in the presence of a Dark Lord.”

Sauron froze. “D…dark Lord? You know who I am?!”

“Come on. Who _doesn’t_ know Sauron, the giant eye in the bigass tower? For reals, though. Yer name.”

“Wait. Wait one minute. Eye in a tower?” Completely confused and forgetting about projectors entirely, Sauron straightened to look into the man’s eyes. There he probed at his mind, seeing images of a majestic tower with two tall spires and a huge fiery eye. That eye looked exactly like his own, when he was at full magical strength. Come to think of it, that was his default eyeball. Now, his eyes were only white and a little golden. As if he wore shiny contacts.

“Yeeeah. You know, from the Lord of the Rings? The land of Mordor where the shadows lie? Dude, this whole _town_ is the basis of Middle-Earth. The country, Arda itself! Do you even know where you _are_ , bro?”

“…No. Not really.” Sauron reached then and gripped Graham by the face, staring into his very soul. “You _will_ tell me about this world.” ‘ _I have had enough of being uninformed._ ’

Graham submit immediately to Sauron’s will and took the expression of a sentient zombie. “A… ask away.”

“What is this ‘ _Lord of the Rings’_ you speak of?”

“It’s this series of books, the most famous thing _ever_. Some guy in the 70’s published it, dude’s name was Tolkien. He uh used a lot of place names from this country, wrote an epic fantasy about elves and dwarves and people chasing after shiny jewelry, and didn’t even get a lawsuit for it.”

“Wrote a book and used place names from this country. Right. And me? How am _I_ involved in any of this?”

“The Dark Lord Sauron… the main antagonist. Made this one ring that does a lot of cool shit, and it’s pretty much the whole plot of the book. He’s supposed to look really nasty, though. You don’t look a thing like him.”

“Tell me more about this ring.”

“It would be much easier if you read the book.”A voice much softer than Graham’s spoke from behind Sauron. He turned so fast his hair whacked Graham in the face, knocking him out of his momentary trance. There by the door was a tall, slender man with feathery white hair and a perfectly symmetrical porcelain face. His rounded cheeks and small nose made him look far younger than was proper for his height. However, Sauron recognized that angular jaw and worrisome brow. Nobody else in the world had such piercing, icy eyes.

“Eonwë?!”

“Well fuck my ass. It’s an angel!” Graham fainted dead on the floor and Eonwë rolled his eyes.

“Man-folk. So crude. Tell me _Mairon_ how have you managed thus far, living amongst them in poverty and squalor?” Eonwë picked at his finely manicured nails, blue from the lack of heat there.

“Nice to meet you too, you bird-fucking twit. I see you haven’t changed.” Sauron reverted to his old speech patterns just for Eonwë , unwilling to speak to him with deference, aggression or false acquaintanceship. They had never been friends – not the high and mighty herald of Manwë, the most prissy little prince to grace the shores of Aman. Definitely not him and Mairon, the hot-headed Maia of Aulë and then Melkor – the only one with a desire so strong it fueled his dominative strength.

“Hmph.” Eonwë stuck his cute little nose up in the air. “Must you be so terribly unkind? I come in peace and goodwill, not to be insulted-”

“I’ll speak to you how I wish and not be swayed otherwise! Now what have you shown your smug bastard face for this time, mind games or a more physical offering?” Though aggression was not Sauron’s intent, it certainly came across as such to the long-distant Eonwë.

“I have not sought you for two thousand years to be greeted like this. Perhaps I shall take my leave, and report that you have lost wit.”

“Oh no no no, you aren’t reporting _anything_.” Sauron lunged straight for Eonwë and braced to hit the door, but instead found contact with a firm chest. He’d expected a vanishing act and little more than air at his fingertips. The disgruntled Maia before him was _definitely_ solid. Eonwë hit the door with a quiet _oof_ , wincing in pain. His prominent shoulderblades were like stubby wings that never quite developed fully and cracked upon impact.

“Someone’s fragile.” said Sauron mockingly. Eonwë did not respond, eyes shut. This was not at all what Sauron was looking for and he took his fellow Maia by the shoulders, slamming him again against the door. “What’s the matter? Little hollow-boned sparrow can’t fly?”

“Ach…” Eonwë’s neck went slack, his head falling until it nearly came off. His bob cut of feathery hair swayed with the motion. Now, Sauron furrowed his brow in suspicion. Where was that fighting spirit combined with deft, subtle insults and offhanded attacks? He’d never faced Eonwë in serious combat before – the ground had opened up to swallow him into its depths before Manwë’s herald had a _chance_. _‘Is he truly so weak? This… is mortal form, is it not? Could it be that his Lord has forsaken him and left him to fend for himself in this world?’_ Sauron knew not where the sudden leaping conclusion came from, but felt the light dusting of Eonwë’s will influencing his mind. _‘Get the fuck out of there. Speak or I shall force you to tell me of your purpose!’_

Eonwë sighed. “Unhand me.”

Sauron did so without being pushed away, and Eonwë smoothed his lovely cream robes that had unfortunately been crinkled. “Do not touch me again.”

“You are in no place to command me, weak one. Get on with it. Tell me what you came for.”

Eonwë looked at the floor. For long moments he was silent, and a great reluctance could be felt dripping through the flimsy fabric of his mind. Flimsy for its haste to break and spill emotion, but strong against foreign assault. Sauron had never been able to break Eonwë’s mind. Then again, he had not become entirely corrupt while Eonwë was still around. If anything, once under Melkor’s spell he’d stayed beside the Dark Lord without care or thought for any of the other Maiar. Maiar that had been his friends. His family. Maiar now that, though estranged, were still his brothers and sisters. He’d never wanted to hurt Eonwë until it became known the flighty little bird sought to best him in open combat. Now, Eonwë had his chance.

Eonwë’s eyes filled with tears rather than the hate Sauron desired. Taken aback, Sauron moved away and nearly tripped over Graham. _‘Ah… my only acquaintance in this world might just be dead because of you, Eonwë.’_

_‘I did not come to see mortal life ended.’_

_‘Then why? What has the eagle-nosed Lord of Wind sent you here for?’_ Sauron was getting tired of asking. Why did his thoughts always seem to derail…? Had he caught some disease from Melkor?

_‘I… was supposed to catch you, and kill you, at the end of the First Age. But you just **had** to disappear into a giant damned hole in the ground, didn’t you? Had to leave all the hard work to poor little me, all on my own, while the others **laughed** so bitterly… My Lord made me seek your sorry self for two millenia. You and that insane Master of yours…’_

_‘I won’t argue with you there. He’s nuts.’_

_‘…For once then, we agree. But I digress. Me being in this hellish world you have been condemned to… it is a punishment. My Lord no longer thinks me worthy of service because of **you**.’_ Anger flared Eonwë’s smooth, gentle inner voice to a biting rush of freezing air. His eyes whitened to the point of near glow, and it was clear he had much latent magical power stored within him from his recent journey. He’d probably sucked life from the fabric of time itself. It hadn’t taken two thousand years for him to show up… more like two months. Even though current time was the Seventh age and there were many more millenia between it and the ancient First, maths meant nothing to a timeleaping Maia. Eonwë barely resisted crushing Sauron’s slender throat. _‘Have you nothing to say?!’_

 _‘Not really. You got what you deserved, you utterly useless twit.’_ Sauron laughed then out loud, the sound high-pitched and maniacal. “GAhAHAHAHA! YOU’RE FUCKED!”

Eonwë did not like this old and snarky Mairon-behaviour at all, especially since he’d seen how nicely _Sauron_ spoke to Melkor. “I have little patience for your mannerisms, Mairon--”

“Then you’ll bloody well deal with it. I have had _enough_ of being proper for my Lord and Master, let me tell you. It is liberating in a way to speak with you, despite you being little more than a feathered scrap before my greatness. Look how I have risen now, beneath my Lord yet above all else!”

Eonwë stared, disgust upon his face.

“I know all there is to know about this world, and hold the power to mould it to my will!” Sauron added for extra credit. He’d learned so much and had received little praise for his efforts.

Now it was Eonwë’s turn to laugh but he held it back, waiting for the tremors in his chest to subside. “And you still sought a mortal’s help to find a TV for your Master, is that it? I saw you floundering for words, Mairon, do not think me a fool.”

“Silence!” Sauron raised his hand then smacked Eonwë across the face. Instantly there bloomed a bright red mark across the ethereal and semi-transluscent flesh. Eonwë said nothing and gave Sauron a baleful glare. _‘Holy shit,’_ thought Sauron. ‘ _He’s really messed up. I should be engaged in a proper fight right about now…’_

“Why do you not fight me?” he asked, honestly confused. Eonwë could sense it and once more averted his gaze, eyes glistening.

“It is not worth it. What purpose is there for action now that I am left here to die? Mandos himself will refuse my spirit once I am wasted and gone. I have found you, _brother_.”His gaze lifted as he spoke, head unmoving. “If you wish to beat me to death then do so like the crude animal you are. Otherwise, leave me be.” With that, he turned to leave. Every step was like the powdered touch of a butterfly upon smooth flower petals. Completely weightless, but with a feline grace far greater than any cat could hope to achieve. He was indeed an angel, and apparently knowledgeable about how to sustain (or end) his life. Sauron however could not believe that for a second. He himself was the most intelligent being in all of Arda (so he thought) and barely knew how electricity worked. How could _Eonwë_ of all folk know more than him?!

“…Where are you going?”

Eonwë froze. “…Away from you.”

“You hesitate?”

“Because I speak to you in conversation, you mindless cur.”

“Oh, by all means leave. You shall not be missed… but I am curious. Where will you stay?” Sauron’s speech patterns were already changing as he shifted into what Melkor would expect of him upon hasty return. Eonwë remained tense. And silent.

“…….”

 _‘Unbelievable. He’s fucking clueless.’_ Sauron saw fit to collapse in a pile of maniacal giggles but took strong note of the aura surrounding his brother. In the slump of Eonwë’s slim shoulders was a heavy, drooping sadness – his body carrying the look of one without hope. His breaths were shallow, quick, almost fearful.

“…Tell me, _wise one_. How long does it take for a mortal body to starve to death?” Eonwë whispered without even turning around.

“It’s not like I _care_ what happens to you… but you want to suffer for forty days?” Sauron bent and picked up the TV Graham had been holding before he collapsed. There was a slight crack in the grey plastic casing. _‘Hope this damn thing still works. It’ll have to do until I find a… what was it? Protector? No…’_

By the time he’d gathered the TV into his arms, Eonwë was gone. He called after him, “Hey! You aren’t seriously…”

“Which way to the roof?” Eonwë stepped out from behind the door and Sauron nearly jumped out of his skin. There was a gaunt weariness in Eonwë’s face now. Something nasty and ghoulish – the face of one who had accepted death. Sauron nudged him with the TV out into the hallway.

“Stop being so damned edgy and go find a place to live. I’ve had enough of this.” Still however Sauron hesitated to leave. While he despised Eonwë’s nature, he had never in fact been personally wronged by him. As acquainted with death and destruction as he was… something did not feel right about letting his brother die. _‘This banter has gone on for too long. Is he going to do it or…’_ He dared to take a quick peek into Eonwë’s mind. What he saw there was a turbulent confusion, raw indecisiveness tearing rational thoughts apart. Eonwë floundered to choose his fate. So, Sauron had to do it for him.

“Just get in there.” He gestured with his head to Door 171.

“Does my end await me?” Eonwë wandered to the unlocked door, pushing it open to reveal an empty apartment. “Ah… a shame.”

Whatever was going on with him couldn’t be discerned by Sauron’s multitasking mind. He sprinted down the hallway and burst into apartment 174, where Melkor sat reading in his armchair. The Dark Lord glanced up. “That was quick.”

“Indeed. Your TV, here.” Sauron plonked the old CRT in the corner of the room, where the small display unit could support it. Melkor squinted.

“It’s fucking tiny. I asked thee-”

“It’s a special magic TV, that’s what it is. Honestly Master, I thought one of your power and perception could _see_ …”

There was no way Melkor would let that slide, and he grunted some vengeful curses. Later, Sauron would pay. After he finished this chapter. “Make it work, then. I’ll be waiting.” He turned a page, scanned with his eyes and tuned out from the conversation. Sauron nodded, then left.

In apartment 171, Eonwë wandered on the soft cream carpet. It had a somewhat yellowish tinge to his eyes (which were used to pure whiteness) and suggested a lack of cleanliness, despite never having been walked on. His tiny bare toes curled in disgust.

Suddenly the door opened and Sauron was back! Immediately Eonwë snapped at him, his previous demeanor all but forgotten.

“Am I supposed to live here in this barren little box?”

“Unless you’d rather kill yourself, there isn’t really any other option.” Sauron went further into the apartment to have a look around. The entire wall to the right was pure glass, with sliding doors opening to a balcony. _‘That’s not fair!’_ he thought, snarling at the pretty little taste of outside that Eonwë could have, but not him. _‘He gets a balcony over there while we only have space to put a couch…’_ It seemed the four apartments on this floor were of similar design, each with windows facing a single direction. Eonwë’s faced East, Melkor and Sauron’s faced South, and Graham’s went West. Whoever lived in the other apartment probably got a view of the rolling hills all the way up North. Sauron had only seen such things indicated on a map. He’d never witnessed them in real life.

“Why are there no living amenities in here?” Eonwë continued pestering Sauron from a safe distance. “No shower or kitchen... not even a bed!”

“Then go and buy that stuff if you want it, Sir All-Knowing! Gods. I’d thought you utterly clueless and here you go on and on about the little things…” Sauron turned to leave, done with people being ungrateful for the day. Eonwë clutched his sleeve, jerking him back.

“…..I am lacking sufficient funds.”

“If you think I’m buying a _single_ thing for you, you’ll be soon lacking much else. Just sleep on the floor and steal food if you want.”

Eonwë shook his head, hair fluffing about. “No! I am _not_ hunting like a plebian savage in trash-cans for food.” His good nature prohibited thoughts of taking owned property and went straight for scavenging. Softening his hard glare, he batted his soft white eyelashes at Sauron. “You’ll show me a place to buy food, won’t you, Mairon? I will acquire money somehow. I just… do not want to get lost…” The more he said, the further embarrassment coloured his cheeks. _‘How pathetic I sound, actually asking him for help. Oh, well. If I can just find a source of food I will not have to lie here and die… ‘_ Now that survival was an option, Eonwë was hesitant to forsake it. He pleaded with Sauron as best he could without completely degrading himself, hating it all the while. Sauron felt a rush of power with the ability to deny or accept, and put a finger to his lip.

“Hmm, I wonder. A trip to the supermarket is all you desire… right?

“Yes.”

“I’ve the time. Come. Do not stray from my side.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Believe it or not I actually have Eonwe's personality and motivations set out - he may seem to be really badly written what with his inconsistent behaviours but there IS reason behind it. Not telling though. Spoilers. kek


End file.
